


Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

by Not_You



Series: A Nest Of Snakes [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward First Times, Background Poly, Choking, Clones, Crying, F/M, Family Issues, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nerdiness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robotics, Sexual Fantasy, dave is sixteen so i guess this gets the underage tag already, hal just has a lot of feelings, it is a universal constant that otacon gets scared and pees himself, metal gear mk II, nerd appreciation, very gentle choking that barely counts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-09 14:37:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 35
Words: 38,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Given my love of taking dark and gritty things and making them light and fluffy, I suppose that in a monkeys writing Hamlet sort of way it was inevitable that I would write a Metal Gear high school AU where the various Snake brothers actually are obnoxious teenagers instead of just acting like it, and where Otacon's family situation is not yet completely hopeless.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. So. For my sins, and despite never having played the games, I have been drawn into this by my intense love for nerd/jock pairings. I have at least watched the first three Metal Gear Solid games and have some idea how the original Metal Gear ones went, but I refuse to invest in the whole chronology because holy hell. (I will instead make my own, and it will be terrible.)
> 
> 2\. For days this has been the only thing going on, sorry everyone! :D
> 
> 3\. The title was meant to be a placeholder, all suggestions for a better one will be considered.

Dave still isn't too sure about this place, but at least he can walk home from school like some kind of normal person. It's nice not to have to be part of the huge frantic rush of humanity at the end of the day, kids scrambling to catch buses and meet other rides out front. The place isn't deserted, there are all the various clubs and teams that meet after hours, but it is quiet enough that as Dave passes the boys' locker room, he can hear a faint, metallic banging. He wouldn't make anything of it, but as he walks by he hears a definite rhythm and purpose in it.

He stops about ten feet past the door, and goes back. The banging hasn't stopped, and he prowls forward as quietly as he can, which, thanks to Dad's constant drills, is very quiet, and pinpoints the source of the noise. The regular lockers that just need to hold P.E. clothes are pretty small, but there are big standing ones for sports equipment way at the far end of the room, and he can see one long door jumping just a bit with each banging noise. Dave has heard about guys getting stuffed into lockers, but this is his first time encountering it in the wild. Yelling for help would get more attention, but maybe he tried and nobody came.

Dave goes to the locker and catches the top corner when the door jumps again. This is mostly about leverage and only a little about strength. He has no idea what the right combination is, so he just gets his hands around the edge and peels it back until he can put every bit of force he has right by the lock. There's a terrified, miserable little noise from inside, but Dave can't manage any reassurances past a snarling grunt of exertion as he pops the door open with a terrible snap and clang.

The pale, spindly kid inside looks at him with huge eyes and a face covered in tearstains and finishes quietly pissing himself. There's actually a puddle on the locker floor, and Dave has to assume this is a combination of being stuck in here too long and mortal terror.

"O-oh," the kid says, still miserable but a little more calm, "you're not Eli, okay."

Dave groans. "What did that asshole do now? Here, come on." He steps back to give the kid room to step out, and he does, in his tattered nerd t-shirt that says something about magic missiles, completely soaked sweatpants, and sneakers that aren't much better off.

"W-well, he said he'd kill me but that would generate too much paperwork, right? You look just like him, so I thought he had come back and please don't tell anyone."

"I have to tell on him," Dave says, "but I can leave out the gory details. You've got other clothes, right?" He doesn't have any to loan, because unlike Eli he doesn't take P.E. just to torment spindly nerds.

"Yeah," the kid says, takes a few steps, and grimaces. "Uh..."

"Give me the combination and I'll get them for you."

"02-28-05," he says, "locker 15B."

The lock is balky, but with some careful jiggling Dave gets it open. Inside, there's a neatly folded pair of jeans, an anime t-shirt, and mercifully, a pair of what look like good-quality dress shoes broken in to that point of maximum comfort that lies just before complete disintegration. No spare socks, but he'll live and won't have to reek of piss the whole way home. Dave carries them back to the kid, who has pulled off his shoes and his socks, and is using the sweatpants to mop up as much of the mess as he can, pathetic in his wet boxers and on his knees. He's a fucking matchstick, and the thought of how easy it must have been for Eli to push him around makes Dave even angrier than he already was.

"Thanks," he says, with a feeble little smile. "Uh... what's your name? Eli's your brother right?"

"I'm Dave, and yeah, he is, for my sins."

"I'm Hal, you can call me Otacon. Are you guys twins? Seriously, except for the hair..."

Dave sighs, because this part always sucks. He can't help crossing his arms over his chest, like that will actually protect him from taking it personally if Hal isn't cool about this. "There's three of us, me, Eli, and George. We're clones, it blows."

"Seriously?" Hal looks up with wide, shining eyes. "I've never met a human clone before!" he chirps. "When I was in third grade the class pet was a guinea pig who gave birth to clones of herself, but that's the closest I've gotten."

Dave smiles, despite himself. "It does blow, but thanks."

One good thing about their situation is that a locker room has showers, so Hal can clean himself up properly while Dave finishes mopping out the locker. When Hal comes out and sees him making a last pass with paper towels soaked in hand sanitizer, he blushes up to the roots of his hair.

"Omigod you don't have to do that,'" he says, and Dave snorts.

"Piss never hurt anybody. Well, except as a vector for ebola, but you look all right to me." He sits up and tosses the towels into the trash. "I haven't housebroken five dogs to be fazed by this."

"Five? Wow." Hal may be a nerd, but he's pretty resourceful, his wet bundle of towel and clothing neatly contained in a stolen trash bag.

Dave stands up and stretches his back. "Shit, I'd have fifty if I could, I love dogs."

Hal beams at him. "They're pretty great."


	2. Chapter 2

It turns out that they walk the same general direction home, so Dave doesn't even have to admit that he wants to go at least partway with him, to watch out for Eli. If he hasn't come back by now, he probably was never going to, but there's a non-zero chance that he's waiting somewhere on the route out of sheer perversity, so Dave heads out the side entrance with Hal. It's probably one of the last really nice days of the year and he sighs, turning his face up to the sun.

"So, uh, Dave," Hal says after a long silence, and then suddenly starts to laugh.

Dave blinks at him. "Yes?"

"Hal and Dave," Hal says, grinning, "where are we headed, Jupiter?" Dave laughs, and when he's quiet again, Hal says, "But yeah, before I finally caught that, I was going to thank you."

Dave shrugs. "Least I could do when my douche brother started it."

"It's weird that he goes around shoving people into lockers and you're so nice," Hal says, so sincere that Dave feels his ears going red.

"Nah, I'm an asshole too," he says, "just in my own way."

"Well, I like your way better. And five dogs can't be wrong. What are their names?"

Dave snorts. "Plenty of terrible people like animals, but sure. There's Snake, Lefty, and Ripper, who Dad picked up when we were about ten, one for each of us. They're all huskies and sometimes I wonder if they have wolf blood a few generations back. Since I'm the responsible one, I did most of their training, and then I found two strays last summer and five isn't that much more trouble than three. Rex and Harrier are some kind of golden retriever mix, and have been a hell of a lot easier to deal with."

"But you love them all the same, right?" Hal asks, and Dave smiles.

"I guess so. Even Lefty, and he technically belongs to Eli and has absorbed some douchebaggery."

"I found a cat once," Hal says, "but my dad's allergic, so we couldn't keep it. E.E., my step-sister, she was real sad about it. So was I, but he did go to a good home, so I can't really complain." He pulls out his phone and shows Dave a photo of a little grey kitten, sitting beside a model robot that towers over it. "He was really small, so I set that up for comparison, it's only about eight inches tall."

"Wow, is he one of those weird dachshund cats?"

"It's a munchkin when it's a cat, and maybe so, his legs were always pretty short..." For the next few minutes he's consulting Google about that, and Dave has to take him by one sleeve and gently tug him to one side to keep him from walking into a tree. How this guy gets through the day without falling down manholes, Dave has no idea.

By the time they get to the corner where they'll have to part ways, Dave is sure Eli wouldn't have gone to this much trouble. Hal waves, and Dave returns the gesture, watching him for a long moment before cutting through a few yards in the kind of shortcut only someone like him would have, since parts of it are arboreal. He's quiet, but of course the dogs know when he gets home, the huskies setting up their wolfish howling and the others barking as they come racing into the back yard to greet him as he swings over the fence. It's a serious jump down, since they have to contain these maniacs. Snake whines and wriggles like a puppy, always even more stupidly happy to see Dave than the rest. He stays crouched where he landed, scratching them behind the ears and murmuring nonsense to them. It's a moment of peace, and he makes it last a while before he leads the dogs inside.

The thing about ratting out either of his brothers is that despite what they might think, it doesn't give him any satisfaction. Shit, it'd be corny to say out loud, but he does it because he cares about them. It's important to be caught out when you're being an asshole, so you have a chance to stop. Besides, Dad is really too old to be riding herd on three teenagers, and Mom is out of the country so much that she's not much help day to day. Right as he registers that the house is too quiet, Dad almost gets a practice knife to his throat. 

Dave really wishes he wouldn't do this, it always scares the hell out of the dogs. He's a sneaky old bastard, but old is the operative word, and in all the barking and howling and growling of dogs who don't want Grandpa to kill anyone but don't have the guts to nip him over it, Dave oils out of his hold and after a minute of furious work, the dogs making the only real sounds in the room, he gets the knife away from him, dropping it to the floor and stepping on it, a house sign for 'seriously, cut the bullshit.' Dad wheezes and grumbles, leaning against the wall where Dave slammed him, good eye squinting, patch slightly askew.

"Seriously, Dad, stop traumatizing the dogs," Dave says. "And I have something to tell you, anyway."

"Come back to the study," Dad growls, and heads in that direction, patting the dogs and muttering to them that he'd never really kill any of their boys and they should know it by now.

"So," Dad says when they have the door shut behind them, "what'd Eli do this time?" It's really getting to be a chicken-and-egg question of whether Eli was an asshole first or if Dad has made him one with this attitude, but that problem is a hell of a lot bigger than Dave.

"Shoved some poor bastard into a locker." Dad actually snickers at that, and Dave snarls, "It wasn't funny! I found him on my way out of the building, he could've been there all night."

Dad sighs, and gets up, opening the door. He bellows for Eli in that sergeant-major voice that can be heard anywhere in the house, and Dave throws together a sandwich and goes to play with the dogs until dinner. He might as well enjoy the time he has before Eli lands on him with both boots for being a snitch.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day at lunch it's pretty annoying that his black eye is big enough to make the hinge of his jaw hurt, but there are no clicking noises when he chews and he's doing a hell of a lot better than Eli, who probably won't be able to shove anyone into anything for at least a few days. He smiles at the thought, and tips onto his back, stretched out on the grass behind one of the sheds, since it's still nice enough outside eat lunch out here. He is not looking forward to being trapped in the fucking cafeteria, and for now he closes his eyes, letting the autumn sunlight glow red through his skin.

He flinches when a shadow falls across him, and then relaxes when he hears Hal laugh. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm hard to sneak up on," he says, "good job." He sits up and gestures to the grass beside him. 

Hal folds his spindly legs with surprising grace, sinking down to sit beside Dave and setting his bright green lunchbox down in front of him. Dave dimly recognizes the characters on it as from Invader Zim, and smiles, because of course Hal carries his lunch in something like that. 

Hal smiles back, but it falls off his face as he gets a better look at Dave. "Shit, what happened?"

"Eli happened." Dave shrugs. "I gave better than I got, don't worry about it."

"Still, that's one hell of a shiner," Hal says, and Dave hates the guilty look on his face.

"Hey. I said don't worry about it," Dave growls, and digs a hard-boiled egg out of his brown paper bag. "Get that open and eat, you've only got about fifteen minutes."

"This is a nice spot," Hal says, pulling out a bright pink juice box. It does have Hello Kitty on it, but it still seems a little odd, more girly than genuinely weebish.

"Yeah, I realized by the end of my first week that I'd be staying here until it got too cold." 

Dave is used to other people having lunches that aren't up to the standards of a crazed Vietnam vet who will backhand anybody who calls him an _ex_ -Marine, but Hal's isn't just full of sugar and processed crap, it's _weird_ sugar and processed crap. A Hello Kitty juice box, a sloppy PBJ, a tiny bag of fruit snacks with a cartoon princess on them, some broken Pocky in a plastic bag, and some string cheese.

Hal catches Dave's eye and shrugs. "E.E. likes to pack my lunch for me."

"...That's kinda sweet, even if everything in there is terrible for you."

"Oh come on, peanut butter and string cheese have nutritional value, and they fortify this syrup I'm drinking with enough vitamins to ease the guilt a little."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Dave says.

"Here," Hal says, and offers him the one intact stick of Pocky, "save me from myself."

"Green tea flavor? Don't mind if I do." Dad almost never buys anything snacky or sweet, and Dave nibbles his way down the stick slowly. He can feel Hal watching him, but it's not irritating.

"You're really tough, aren't you?" Hal asks, after a short silence, and Dave isn't quite sure what to say to that.

"Dad has raised us to be tough. And he was so good they cloned him without even asking, he only got us 'cause he sued. I'm not sure he really wanted us, but apparently he got attached." He shrugs. "He's pretty much the Eternal Soldier, I don't know what else he even has to teach."

"That's kind of sad, isn't it?"

Dave shrugs. "If it is, it's what we get." He smiles, and passes Hal an egg. "Here, put some meat on your bones."

Hal chuckles, and carefully cracks the shell, peeling pieces off with his long, nervous fingers. "Hey, Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to, but the anime club meets every Thursday, and it'd be cool if you stopped by."

If Dave is going to make an effort to be even kind of normal, it makes sense to get into some after-school activity, but anime club wouldn't have even been his been his fifth thought. "I don't really know much about it," he says, "but yeah, what the hell?" 

Hal smiles like the sun coming out, and Dave smiles back, even if he is going to spend an afternoon surrounded by weeaboos. At least his Japanese heritage is pretty stealth. You have to really know where to look. Apparently they're in the middle of Gundam Wing, and he spends the rest of his lunch break letting Hal's otaku babble gently wash over him. 

Someone's older sister recommended the show from her own dim, dead high school days, and while Hal agrees with the assessment that it needs more robots and fewer pretty-boys, it sounds like the series is at least trying to do something. Honestly, it might be a bit close to home, given the way Dad will go on and on when he's drunk about the nature of war and peace and the purpose of a soldier. Dave will just have to see.

"Uh, hey, Dave?" he asks, picking up his neon lunchbox as the warning bell rings, just barely audible out here.

"Yeah?"

"...You mind if I come back here tomorrow?"

"Nah. Where were you before?"

Hal grimaces and glances to the side. "Computer lab."

"Right, why'd I even ask?" He gets to his feet and stretches everything out, as is his habit. "Look, even if I did mind, I can't exactly show you the deed to this twenty feet." He looks over at Hal, gives him a reassuring smile because it seems like he needs it, and says, "And I don't mind."


	4. Chapter 4

Hal seems surprised to find Dave hanging around the side entrance when he comes out at the end of the day, and for one moment Dave has a clear vision of himself as a hulking double of Eli, lurking here like a fucking stalker, and then Hal beams at him, jumping down the steps to land on the balls of his feet with gawky grace.

"Hey," he says, eyes bright, and Dave has the sudden feeling that even he has had more friends in his life than this kid.

"Hey," he says, and they fall into step together like they did yesterday.

"You're not worried about Eli waiting for me, are you?"

"I thought about that yesterday," Dave says, and smiles. "I'm pretty sure I sprained his elbow, it's hard to really commit to being a shitheel when you can't get one of your major hitting-people joints to work."

"Jeez, you guys are like bear cubs or something. Or hyenas, if you were all girls instead."

"Why do we have to be girls to be hyenas?" Dave asks. There's something endearing as hell about Hal when he's animated.

"The females are the heavy hitters with hyenas. Males are smaller, not as strong, and all rank below the lowest female. Yeah, I was probably born as the wrong species, what are you gonna do?" he shrugs, and Dave grins.

"So what kind of girl do you like, then?" and Hal actually blushes and god help him that's adorable.

"...I guess I can trust you not to tell anyone. If I couldn't, I'd be upgraded from 'nerd' to 'that nerd who pees himself,' already." He grimaces, and Dave decides against trying to comfort him by pointing out how _much_ there had been. Something had to give, and it's always better to deal with humiliation than internal ruptures, but it's probably not what he wants to hear. Time for another tack, and it's not like Hal won't find out why they moved here eventually.

"Just like I get upgraded to 'murder clone' when Eli pulls the shit he always does," Dave says. They really had called him that at his last school, and he can't pretend it hadn't hurt, at least a little. "Why d'you think we moved in the first month of a new school year?

Hal has gone from pink to white like a semaphore flag, and it's almost funny. "...Murder clone is hyperbole, right?" he squeaks.

"It is, Eli hasn't killed anybody... yet. I don't know about him sometimes. But when your freaky clone-brother breaks some dude's arm for no reason, a lot of the blame slops onto you." He sighs, putting his hands in his pockets. "I think I mind it more than George does. He's the one who _really_ turned out like Dad, y'know. Dad straight-up does not give one single fuck. Eli and I are a little different."

"Uh, since we're talking about this," Hal says, and now the look on his face is all science, and it makes Dave smile, "what process did they use?" People talk about being studied like it's necessarily degrading, and it can be, but it's a hell of a lot better than people just deciding that they know all about you already.

"It was all classified at the time," he says, "but Dad pried it out of them when he lawyered up. We're pretty classic: enucleated egg cells, Dad's DNA, implantation. I guess we've got a lot of parents: Dad, Mom, Ms. Sato, and the whole lab team." It's weird, he usually talks about this shit either with people who already know about it, or with unsympathetic authorities. No one new to it has ever just taken it all in like this.

"Was Ms. Sato the egg donor?" Hal asks, and Dave smiles, because he says it like it's normal.

"Yeah."

"So you're part Japanese?" and thank god, he doesn't sound way too interested.

"We would be anyway, Dad's a quarter, but we're... fuck, I dunno how much, but we have some of her genes. A quarter and a dash, I dunno. Definitely not enough to keep those recessive genes from turning up in Eli."

"Oh, so the hair's natural?"

"Uh, yeah. He used to dye it, all self-conscious, like 'recessive' means 'crap,' but I guess he's getting over it." He grimaces. "I hope he's getting over it, shit."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Hal says, and sighs.

"This whole thing started with _me_ asking _you_ a question, Hal."

"Seriously? But we're in the middle of science!"

"You know, you look like a guy more interested in science than in girls," Dave says, teasing, and Hal punches him in the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt. He might not be able to do much even if he tried, but he's not trying.

"Stop being riiiight," he whines, and then laughs. "Really, I wish I were more into science than girls, do you have any idea how much I'd get done?"

"Well, you are named after an evil computer, maybe it's for the best." He means it for a joke, but there's a little twinge in Hal's face that makes him want to slap himself in his bruised eye.

"You know, you have a point. And since I asked all about your time as a zygote, I guess I can tell you that there's this one girl on the rifle team." She must be some girl, he practically has visible hearts over his head.

"Yeah?"

"She's kind of closed off, but..." He lets out a dreamy sigh, and Dave does his best not to grin too much and hurt his feelings. After all, his enormous crush on Mr. Miller had been part of what made moving so unpleasant. He knows what it's like to feel all stupid and swoony and barely even mind.


	5. Chapter 5

On the corner where they parted last time, Hal blurts out a sudden invitation to dinner and then turns almost as red as he had in the locker. It's a gorgeous day, and it seems kind of cruel that the sun is so bright and the sky so blue and the sidewalk so wide and clean when Hal looks so much like he wants to hide.

"Hey, why not?" Dave says, as gently as he can without making it any weirder. "Lemme call my dad. He won't say no, but he gets worried when he doesn't know where we are. And not just because Eli might be out setting fires." He taps the number for home and adds, "He doesn't really do that, thank Christ. I think he read that stuff about how fire-starters wet the bed and he's too proud to do it even if he wants to. Hey, Dad!" he chirps as sunnily as he can, because it sounds like he woke the old man up. There's a faint background noise of shifting blankets, and Dad's inhale before he speaks is even more gravelly than usual.

"Yeah?" he grumbles.

"Got invited to a friend's house for dinner." It feels weird in his mouth, the way unprecedented things pretty much always do, but it is technically true. He's actually sort of comforted at the near-shock on Hal's face at being referred to as a friend, at least they're on about the same level. "Walking distance, all you need to do is not set a place for me."

"Your loss, we're havin' steak." Dave can hear him patting around, and then he growls, "If George stole my fuckin' smokes again I'm gonna have to kill the little shit or give him a medal."

"Don't kill him, it'd make Mom sad," Dave says, and Dad chuckles.

"I guess you're right. Give this kid my regards, eat whatever crap they put in front of you, and get in by ten. I don't gotta tell you to be polite, do I?"

"No, sir," Dave says, filled with fondness for the cranky old bastard. "I'll call if anything comes up."

"Over," Dad says, like this is military radio, and Dave rolls his eyes.

"Bye," he says, and hangs up. He turns to Hal. "Let's go."

Dave's time on the phone has been good for Hal's composure, and the walking helps more. "So," Hal says, when they've gone a few houses further down, "who's in trouble?"

"George, for once. He's probably the best-behaved, but I think he was born craving nicotine, so he rips Dad off when he can manage. I wouldn't have the balls," he adds, because it's true, he can't believe the way George courts the old man's junkie wrath. "Dad's past trying to stop at this point, but he's really hoping we won't take it up." He's also pissed at what smoking has done to his lung capacity and endurance, and it probably doesn't help that his sons all rag on him when they go running. 

"I hope you don't, too," Hal says, "it's terrible for you."

Dave can't help looking around this new area as they walk, picking up the usual details the way Dad has trained all of them to do, with Mom's able assistance whenever she's around. He notes the trees and other plausible cover, where the entrances and exits of each house are, and every vehicle. It's annoying, but he can't really stop. Hal's voice still registers, though, and he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says and flips off a barking dog as they go by. Thinks he's such hot shit just because there's a fence in the way.

Hal snickers. "And here I thought only I did that. He scares E.E., so fuck him, as far as I'm concerned."

"You really care about her, don't you?" One of the things that's so damn weird about being a clone is that nobody's any older than anybody else. Normal people's family dynamics are fascinating and weird.

Hal blushes again, but shrugs. "Yeah, I do. She's a sweet kid, and well... I'm not exactly prom king material, it's kind of nice to be around someone who doesn't judge."

"I get it," Dave says, and he really does. It's what he turns to his dogs for. Too bad kids grow out of it.

They make another turn at the next corner, onto a street where things seem bigger and older. All of the trees they've gone by have reached a respectable size, but these are massive, and make serpentine, organic lumps in the concrete. "E.E. hates how bad this sidewalk is for skates," Hal says, and Dave chuckles.

"Hadn't thought of that. Must be a bitch trying to do anything like that around here."

"On the other hand, the house came with a pool. You win some, you lose some. Kid swims like a fish."

Hal's house is the last one on the right, and as they approach it Dave sees movement in the yard and hears a birdlike little voice calling, "Hal! Hal!"

A tiny girl in pink glasses opens the gate and comes running out. Hal beams at her and sweeps her up into a hug when she reaches them. He's definitely stronger than he looks, not that that's hard. Up close the girl's glasses turn out not to have lenses at all, and Dave is perplexed and charmed by this weirdness as Hal cuddles her for a moment and then sets her down, introducing her to his friend Dave.

She squints up at Dave like she's measuring him, and he just looks back. At last she sticks out her tiny hand, and Dave takes it carefully. "Emma Emmerich," she chirps, "pleased to meet you."

He grins at her, trying to keep the amusement out of it. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Emmerich," he says, and she beams at him. It's weird, they don't look much alike and he wouldn't expect them to, but her smile reminds him of Hal.


	6. Chapter 6

E.E. serves to announce Dave's presence, bouncing up the concrete path through the yard and into the house to tell Mum they have company. Hal sees him noting that, and smiles as he leads the way across the flat threshold. "Her accent is mostly gone, but she's English."

Inside the house, Dave gets that weird feeling that he always does in a place furnished and decorated by normal human beings. At home there's already WHO DARES, WINS scrawled over the kitchen door, and their battered dartboard set up in the living room, to say nothing of the various pin-ups. At least those are all normal, god-fearing girlie shots, they have some standards, but here there are abstract prints and little decorative glass things and goddamn fresh flowers on a side table next to a little rack for shoes. It's enough to give a guy a complex.

Strategically speaking, Dave puts the flat entry together with the wide-open floor plan and therefore isn't actually surprised when Hal's father comes rolling into view. They look a lot alike, the biggest obvious differences on first glance being the chair and that Hal's hair is this weird almost-grey while his father's is brown with a little red. He favors them with a thin little smile that may or may not be sincere, it's hard to say.

"Hello. I understand you'll be joining us for dinner."

"Yeah," Dave says, once he's done levering his boots off and setting them beside the rack because they don't really fit on it. He dusts his hands off on his jeans and goes up to him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Emmerich," he says, extending a hand.

"Doctor," Dr. Emmerich says, taking it. Great, one of those guys. Dave is careful not to let the irritation show.

"Dave Plisken," he says, and Dr. Emmerich tilts his head to one side, his slender hand releasing Dave's.

"Like 'Escape From New York'?"

"One s, not two, but yes, sir," Dave says. It's hardly the first time someone has noticed.

"And to think," Hal says, "I'm the one named from a movie."

"At least it's a respectable one," Dr. Emmerich says, and Hal snorts.

"If you say so, Dad," Hal says, mouthing 'overrated' over his father's head at Dave. Dave hasn't seen it, he wouldn't know. 

"And what happened to your face, Mr. Plisken?" Dr. Emmerich asks, and Dave does his best not to roll his eyes. He hates it when adults get smarmy.

"Disagreement with my brother, sir," he says, and Dr. Emmerich raises an eyebrow.

"My room is upstairs, we might as well drop off our stuff," Hal says, sounding slightly desperate, and he waves for Dave to follow him, leading the way to a wide staircase.

"So you really are named after an evil computer?" Dave asks as they head up the stairs, Hal trailing his fingers along the chair lift in the habitual way a person might do with a bannister.

"Yep," Hal says, and sighs. "Dad's kind of a mad scientist." 

He opens the first door on their left, and Dave walks straight into a solid wall of nerd. Anime wall scrolls, mech models, and... Jesus, are those Star Wars sheets on the bed? Still, it is clean, and the brunette in some kind of bondage-y harness and something hybridized out of a bunch of mid-century military uniforms on the west wall is pretty hot for a cartoon.

"Hey, at least he doesn't ambush you with a practice knife to make sure you're on your toes," Dave says, swinging his backpack to the floor.

"Does your dad seriously do that?" Hal asks, dropping his bag onto the bed.

"Totally. One of these days he's gonna throw his back out, and depending on what kind of day we've had, we might leave the old bastard on the floor for a while." He sighs, wandering over to the window to satisfy that ingrained need to take the lay of the land. There's a comprehensive view of the backyard, giving Dave a look at the pool, a few gracious old trees, and a little patch of flowers being tended by E.E. and what must be Hal's stepmother. "Really, I'd mind less," he says, turning away from the glass, "but the dogs freak out every time, it can't be good for them."

"I'll bet," Hal says, pulling his math book out of his bag.

Dave cocks his head, studying the cover. "You're taking Calc already?"

Hal shrugs, looking somewhere between embarrassed and quietly defiant. "I like math," he mutters, and Dave smiles.

"Of course you do."

"Hey, can't build robots without math." Hal pauses. He looks shy again, but his eyes are bright behind his glasses. "Want to see what I'm working on?"

Dave grins at him. "Fuck yeah, I do."

The wall scrolls are all fairly tasteful, either robots or fully-clothed anime chicks, but on the inside of the closet door is a poster of a stacked redhead in next to nothing, holding a huge gun. Dave raises an eyebrow, and Hal blushes, shrugging.

"I'm a nerd, not a monk," he says, and crouches, reaching far back into the shadows to pull something forward. "Besides," he says, "she came free with a busted old '79 Gundam some guy was selling, I can pass the buck on this one." He makes a small noise of exertion and hauls a weird, top-heavy little bipedal metal frame into the light. It's kind of a mess, but there's a sort of potentiality to it. "The grabbing arm is mostly working, but I haven't gotten everything in place for locomotion. Walking is a lot more complicated than you'd think."

"I've heard that," Dave says, and settles onto the floor by Hal to learn all about the thing's composition and projected and actual functions. His voice is kind of hypnotic when he gets going, and the gestures of those spidery hands are almost elegant. Dave just barely hears the footsteps, but has been carefully trained to keep his ears open no matter how much his attention wanders, so it's Hal who jumps at a gentle knock on the doorjamb.

The woman standing there chuckles at them in a way that's a little like Mom. "Sorry not to greet you before," she says in the kind of clipped English accent that is just barely not Received Pronunciation, "but I had to finish the roses. Fall planting works, but only if you pull up your socks and get on with it."

Dave rises and takes her hand. This whole damn family makes him remember that he has giant murder clone paws, with gun calluses and that knife scar on the back of the left one, but she just smiles and gives it a friendly squeeze. "Call me Julie, Mrs. Emmerich is Hal's dear departed grandmother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm keeping Otacon's original hair because it keeps him from being total generation xerox and is a little phenotypical shout-out to his mom.


	7. Chapter 7

Julie is nice and hospitable and makes sure that Dave isn't allergic to anything, but it's still a relief when she walks away. It's also nice to look at, and he does his best not to be obvious. A guy may have a hot stepmom, but all ogling must be discreet. Hal apparently doesn't notice, back on the floor to adjust something on the robot. Dave joins him, and the thing swivels its little camera head toward him and makes the clicking sound phones have to keep creeps from taking pictures up girls's skirts. 

Hal makes a little noise of delight and gives his creation an affectionate pat. "Now we get to see how the facial recognition software is working. I had to rewrite it a lot, it was pretty sloppy when I got it..." The camera tracks overs the wall and the floor and then stops with a little chirp, pointing at Dave like a dog. He chuckles, and Hal grins at him.

"I'll have to get E.E. in here to see if it works on her. It didn't last time, kids have such delicate features."

"I guess they would be harder to recognize, like how babies pretty much all look the same."

"Julie says that's only true until you have your own," Hal says, carefully entering something on the robot's attached tablet. Dave knows just enough about computers and related things to function in modern society. He can Skype with Mom whenever an op will allow, get his research done for school, and waste time, but Hal must know how this shit actually works.

"Maybe she's right. It's hard for Dad to say, because of course we really did all look the same. We're just lucky that he has a sharp eye for detail and that we've differentiated a little. If you put me next to George, I look slightly more Japanese." He pauses, and then adds, "And I have a scar on my left hand and he doesn't, and of course Eli has the hair."

"Yes, the hair," Hal says. "I know he's your brother and you're kind of doomed to love him, but god is he a douche."

"The love can get pretty fuckin thin sometimes," Dave says, "I'll tell you that. What are you telling your doombot, anyway?"

"I'll have you know, if I ever take over the world, it's ice cream for everyone," Hal says. "And we put almost all the war money into a space program. Leave enough to feed the guys needed to pilot our drones if someone is determined to fight us. ...Shit, your parents are military, sorry."

Dave laughs. "Don't be. You should hear them talk about VR and all this remote-control stuff." He grins. "So, in your peaceful utopia, does this thing have an onboard soft-serve dispenser?"

Hal chuckles. "That'd be pretty great, but the refrigeration elements would be too heavy for the poor little guy. He can carry a choice of toppings."

After putting the little robot through a few more paces and answering Dave's questions in the pleased but slightly incredulous way of a person no one ever listens to, Hal rolls it back into the closet. Its little grabby arm is still pretty janky, but this is an ambitious project. Hal grins when he says so, with that pleased embarrassment that seems to come over him any time Dave says something the slightest bit complimentary.

"Well, go big or go home," Hal says, and then asks him what he knows about Vocaloid.

Dave has been wondering what kind of music speaks to someone like Hal, and it just figures that it's Japanese robot music. It mostly sounds like squeaky J-pop, but it is kind of cool to think that it's almost entirely artificial, actual human noise just a base. There are also apparently animated music videos and whole elaborate narratives about the character associated with each voice, it's one of the most fascinatingly nerdy things he has ever encountered in his life. "I'm not too involved in the fandom," Hal says with a shudder, "one too many fucking shotacon doujinshi."

"You realize that I have no idea what those words even mean," Dave tells him, and Hal laughs down at him, Dave sitting on the floor and resting his back against the side of the bed while Hal sits cross-legged on the mattress and controls the playlist, every other song apparently an all-time favorite.

"The most succinct English definition is probably 'cartoon porn where the characters are way too young.'" He laughs at Dave's repulsed grimace. "Yes, that is exactly the face I made, all those years ago when I was still a precious innocent child."

"And now you're the withered sixteen-year-old husk I see before me?" Dave asks, tipping his head back to look up at him.

"Fifteen," Hal says, "I skipped third grade and that was probably a bad idea."

"When's your birthday?"

"January, and it's terrible because I already know how to drive and can't get a real license until then. Yours?"

"July sixth. I think they were trying to be cute, and I'm glad we fucked it up."

"Jesus, that is tacky. Good job," he adds, and they both laugh.

"Really, it was probably just every individual cell of Mom's body being stubborn. Dad says that, I'm pretty sure it's why he likes her."

Hal chuckles sadly. "I think my dad likes Julie because he's no fun and she is. She's why I didn't have to borrow your phone to call ahead and wheedle him about it for half an hour. And why we're not having delivery or my cooking, thank god."

"It's all just chemistry and following directions," Dave says, "you can't be that bad at it." Now that food has even come up, he wonders how to gracefully point out that if he doesn't eat something soon, at dinner he is going to unhinge his jaw and swallow the plate

"Yeah, you say that now," Hal says, shaking his head, and then smiles at the pitter-patter of little feet.

E.E. comes in with a plate of fruit, cold cuts, and crackers, holding it with the exaggerated care of a little kid determined not to spill. It's a harder task than usual because she also has to manage a big plastic bag with a folded dishtowel in it, caught between her left hand and the plate.

"Mum cut it up and I helped," she chirps, offering Dave the plate since he's closer to the door. He takes it with both hands and thanks her, while Hal sets the enormous history book everyone hates carrying onto the bed, to serve as a tray. "And this is for your eye," E.E. adds, handing Dave the bag, which is icy cold.

"I... thanks. This will help a lot."

"I told you," Hal says after she bounds away again with endless first-grader energy, "she's a sweet kid."


	8. Chapter 8

Much later, as Dave hops fences and climbs trees on autopilot, he's anxious in a way he can't place. There's something he doesn't like about Hal's whole situation, a collection of hunches and weird vibes. A big part of it is just the way Hal hadn't actually relaxed at the table. Maybe it was just Dave's presence, but Hal was calmer when they had lunch together at school, a place where guys like Eli prowl the edges of the herd.

Dave swings off of the last branch and drops into the yard still lost in thought. The dogs are already in for the night, since the huskies can't be trusted not to howl at the moon, but they hear him and start barking and yelping joyously inside the house until the back door flies open to let them out.

"Get out and shut up!" Dad yells, and Dave laughs where he's crouched in the grass, returning their delighted greetings. After a few minutes he gets up and goes to join his father on the back steps.

"So," Dad asks as they make their way into the kitchen, "how'd it go?"

The old man is always anxious to know how his sons are getting along with the wider world, so Dave says it went okay, as a placeholder, and then pours himself some milk while Dad tips a little more whiskey into his own glass. They settle at the kitchen table, and Dave mentally prepares a status report.

"So, this kid is the one you found in the locker?" Dad asks, and Dave snorts.

"Yes, but he does have a name," he says, and tells them about Hal and his family, redacting all the weird parts where his dad seemed jealous of him and the way Julie kept watching him. Those are personal, and he wants time to think about them anyway.

"Well," Dad says at last, "he's welcome to come over if you want to return the invite."

Hal probably won't ever want to come here with Eli creeping around and seething, but Dave appreciates that. He says so, and drains the rest of his milk before excusing himself and making his way up the stairs to Eli's room. There's the usual sound of loud and angry music played at a volume just low enough to keep Dad from bitching, and Dave knocks right on the KEEP OUT: BIOHAZARD sign. He waits a moment, and then knocks again, louder.

"The fuck you want?" Eli growls, opening the door with his good arm. The other is tightly wrapped up, and it gives Dave vicious satisfaction when he remembers how scared Hal was when they met.

"Just here to tell you what's gonna happen if I bring Hal here and you so much as look at him funny."

Eli sneers at him. "You and your little pets," he says, and Dave can feel his lip trying to curl back from his teeth.

"I will break your fucking face, Eli, and you know I can do it."

"He's not even that interesting to pick on," Eli says, which Dave knows for the admission that it is.

"Good. Stay bored," Dave growls, "stay healthy."

"Yeah, what the fuck ever," Eli says, and slams the door in his face, something Dave has long since gotten used to from him. 

He just sighs, and goes to his own room, entering very cautiously, since sometimes Eli traps the door. Nothing tonight, and he makes a quick check of the rest of the room before flopping back onto his bed. A light knock at the door makes him jump, and he gets to his feet and shuffles over to answer it, deeply relieved to see George on the other side. It's not Dad here to have one of his patented clumsy talks on getting along with other humans on any of the levels deeper than having decent manners and more shallow than blood-bonded brothers in arms.

"Hey," George says. "I thought you might want to help me walk the pack."

"Maybe I do," Dave says, "lemme change my shirt." The one he has on has sweat around the collar from the exertions of the day, and he hangs it over the edge of the hamper because just dumping it in is an invitation to mildew. George lounges in his doorway, and chuckles as he watches Dave pull on a fresh t-shirt.

"Looks like there's gonna be another way to tell us apart soon," he says, raising the hem of his own shirt for a second so Dave can see the darkening hair on his belly, exactly like Dad's.

"Well, you are supposed to be the closest copy," Dave says, and pulls on a hooded sweatshirt because the nights are starting to get cold. "I was thinking the east route, what about you?" 

They have already discovered several different ways to the walk the dogs, because they have a lot of space to do it in. None of them had been pleased to be uprooted, and Eli had even made some attempt at an actual apology for fucking everything up, but this new location is right next to what used to be a cattle ranch and is now a park. Supposedly there are still cows in some corner of it, but it's mostly just winding trails through green hills, a tiny wilderness surrounded by little towns like this one.

The local leash law is just that dogs must be under some kind of control, and verbal counts, so they don't have to locate five harnesses before they can leave and then figure out how to pay out enough lead to keep the huskies happy without creating a tangled web of dogs and failure. They just jog down the street, not wanting to be soaked in sweat before they even start the trail, and it's easy to talk.

"So," Dave says, once they're a block away, "why do you need to get out?" Like all dogs their pack needs all the exercise it can get, but going out this late is a rarity.

"Well, with Eli grounded from anything fun and all pissed off about it, the house is a little small."

"Sorry about that," Dave says, breath a little shorter as the grade gets steeper, "but I couldn't let it slide."

"Nah," George says as the houses kind of fall away, so much lower on each side of the road and covered by yellow leaves, "I know."


	9. Chapter 9

Very late that night, some faint sound makes Dave come half-awake for a moment, but he just rolls over, somehow sure that it doesn't matter. In the morning, he comes down for breakfast and instantly knows what he heard. Uncle Ocelot is sitting at the table between Dad and Eli with eggs, toast, and what is almost assuredly a screwdriver masquerading as a decent glass of juice. Ocelot always says that in Russia one hour is as good as another, and now he beams at Dave, standing up to pull him into a brief hug full of the familiar smells of his leather coat and that weird cologne of his. It's not necessarily bad, but definitely peculiar. Probably has some illegal animal product in it or something.

"You've grown," he says, and ruffles Dave's hair, going back to his breakfast as Dave scrambles his own eggs. The carton stands on the counter by the stove, waiting for late arrivals.

"How was your trip?" Dave asks, because that's a question he'll get an answer to. 

Ocelot has been gone for eighteen months, but he would be the last person on earth to offer any explanation of what he has done with the time. 'Ocelot' may be a pretty silly nom de guerre, but he does come and go like some kind of jungle cat, and is almost as secretive. No telling how long he'll stick around, either, but Dave is glad to see him.

"Horrible flight, but the drive here wasn't so bad," he says, cutting up toast with prissy care. "Very scenic."

Dad chuckles. "It's extra scenic when you get lost," he teases, and Ocelot makes a sound like an irritated house cat. Dad leans over and kisses his cheek, mumbling something in Russian that Dave doesn't catch but that makes Eli gag. He may be a prick, but Dave's heart goes out to him. Ocelot turns his head and kisses Dad on the mouth, just as George comes through the door.

"Aw, Christ, whyyyy," he whines, and Dave just shakes his head.

"I know that was disgusting," he says, "but how many eggs do you want?"

George sighs, slumping into his seat. "Four, I'll choke 'em down somehow."

"Start some toast, you martyr," Dave says, carefully turning the eggs. This is really the best division of labor anyway, since George always turns the burner up too high and fucks everything up. Scrambled eggs should not be brown and Dave refuses to back down on this vital issue.

"What're we gonna do with these little bastards, Adamska?" Dad rumbles, and Ocelot chuckles.

"Torture them, of course," he says, and kisses Dad again, lingering over it and sliding one hand into Dad's hair and everything.

Eli gets up from the table in disgust and Dave just sighs and dishes up eggs for himself and George. There's no stopping them when they get in this kind of mood, it's better just to bolt to school and let them get it out of their systems. He's just making his eggs and toast into a sandwich so he can flee this scene of horror when he remembers that it's Thursday.

"Hey, Dad?" He turns to face the horror, and Ocelot has the decency to just have a hand on the back of Dad's neck. He might be rubbing it a little, but it could be so much worse.

"Yeah?"

"Promised a friend I'd go to an after-school thing. Should be about an hour." He really doesn't want to own up to anime club in front of his brothers, and is very grateful when Dad just tells him to be home in time for dinner. He takes his sandwich and gets the hell out as Dad kisses Ocelot again. They'll be early to class, but it's better than hanging around Dad and Ocelot, newly reunited.

"Totally fucking vile," Eli mutters as they head up the block, good hand crammed into his pocket. He still can't easily bend the other arm.

Dave shrugs. "It has been eighteen months," he says.

George shudders. "I know, but nobody should call a sixty-year-old man 'kitten.' It's just not right."

"Yeah," Eli mutters, "just 'cause he was barely legal when they met..."

"Please don't make me think of barely-legal Ocelot as a thing in the universe," George says, and Dave laughs.

There's still twenty minutes to the first bell when they get to school, and once Dave has everything he won't need for his first class stashed in his locker, he wanders into the first floor computer lab because it's open. The place is deserted, except for the staff monitor sitting at his desk and looking bored, and Hal, tucked way in the back. He has enormous headphones on and a look of fierce concentration. It suits him, and Dave has a sudden wish that he was a half-decent photographer, because if he was he might be able to catch the fine bones of Hal's face in an ambush candid. 

As it is, he saunters over to Hal and puts a hand on the desk where he can see it. It still makes him jump, but only a little. He pulls the headphones down to hang around his neck, releasing very faint sounds of what's probably more goddamn Vocaloid and when he sees that it's Dave and not Eli, his face lights up.

"Hey," Dave says, and pulls up a chair. "You usually this early?"

"Sometimes," Hal says. "I can work on code here and mostly not be bothered. It's nice. Why are you early? Not that I'm not glad to see you," he hastens to add.

Dave snorts. "My uncle showed up in the middle of the night, and he and Dad haven't seen each other in a long time. The atmosphere gets pretty thick."

"Oh no," Hal says, "do they fight?"

Dave laughs. "That would probably be easier to put up with." He takes a look around because he doesn't mind telling Hal, but he doesn't want it getting around to the kind of assholes who get all judgey about this stuff. "He's not really our uncle, he's basically Dad's other wife. Mom knows about him, it's not fucked up, just weird. We're glad he's back, but it's a bit much to have your Dad and your weird uncle sucking face at the breakfast table."

"...I never thought I'd be glad that so many of my relatives are dead," Hal says, and Dave has to muffle his explosive laughter by biting onto the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Hal gives him a joyful and wicked grin that Dave definitely wants to see more often.


	10. Chapter 10

At lunch, Hal is so heartrendingly grateful to hear that they're still on for anime club this afternoon that it makes Dave want to hunt down and murder everyone who has made him so unused to having friends. Dave is actually scary. People have an excuse to stay at arm's length. But Hal? He's fucking harmless, the kind of guy who's a kind and patient big brother to a kid who's technically not even related. Sure, he's a nerd, but there's so many worse things to be. He can talk about shit besides anime and he actually bathes, what more do these fuckers want?

Rather than grabbing Hal and gazing intently into his eyes as he explains that it's the world's problem, not Hal's, Dave just shrugs. "Hey, I did say I'd go." He chuckles. "Shit, this way if anyone walks into anything weird after school, it won't be me."

Hal blinks at him for a moment, and then Dave can see the realization ripple across his face as he remembers what Dave said earlier about the place of dear old Uncle Ocelot in the family, and then wrinkles his nose. "Oh, ick."

"Exactly," Dave says, with a reminiscent shudder. It would be bad enough on its own, but they're freaky, too. At a tender age Dave and his brothers had learned not to get into Uncle Ocelot's bags. Eli had been the one to ask the internet about it, and that's why Dave has known what a Violet Wand is since he was twelve years old.

"So, like... how did this even happen?" Hal asks, bright green lunchbox apparently forgotten in his lap. "What did your mom have to say?"

"About Ocelot?" Dave asks, pulling a carrot out of his paper bag.

Hal cocks his head hard to one side in a way that reminds Dave of a dog trying to comprehend spoken language. " _What?!_ "

Dave laughs. "Everyone calls him Ocelot. Apparently there used to be a whole Ocelot unit back in Vietnam, but it sure stuck for him. His real-people name is Adam, or Adamska since that's how they say it in Russian."

"Jeez, Vietnam? Your dad really is old, isn't he? Sorry."

"Nah, we rag on him for it all the time, it's only the truth." He goes into the entire history almost without even thinking about it, so many people have asked every implied follow-up question. "He was fifty when they started the whole project," Dave says, nibbling on the carrot, 'cause he wasn't supposed to know anyway. They would have done it earlier if they'd had the tech, his swimmers got fried by radiation exposure. We don't have any naturally-conceived semi-siblings out there, we asked. Mom is way younger, she was like, thirty when we were born."

"Oh, so there's a big age gap," Hal says, finally opening his lunchbox.

"Yeah, that's part of why she doesn't mind Ocelot, he was there first. I mean, she's in it to win it, we have to watch her suck face with him too." Dave shrugs. "I guess it's better than parents who are gonna get divorced or some shit. It's gross, but they fuckin' worship each other."

"That's nice," Hal says, and it sounds like he means it. "Oh, hey," he says, sounding amused. "Two bags of fruit snacks. I think this one is yours, Dave," he says, and hands it over.

Dave is touched to be considered, but reads the side of the pouch anyway, to see how bad the damage will be. "Well, fuck it, they've got vitamin C," he says, tearing it open, and Hal grins.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he says in a mocking sing-song. "Starting to get why I hang out with my little sister so much?"

"Totally. I'd hang out with my brothers more if they weren't such assholes. Well, George is all right, but he's sort of got this future politician thing going on, and it weirds me out sometimes."

"I guess I can see that." He sighs. "It may blow to be a clone, but you're lucky, you know that?"

"Sometimes it doesn't feel like it," Dave says, "but you're probably right."

Hal shrugs. "I mean, my mom is... well..."

"You don't have to talk about it," Dave says, hoping that his haste to reassure him doesn't sound like he doesn't want to know.

"It's like some kind of horrible riddle: my mom loves me very much and isn't a deadbeat or dead, why isn't she in my life?" He sighs. "She's been in a coma for about a decade. I visit her, to try and give her some cerebral stimulation and let her know I still care, but it doesn't seem to be doing much good."

"Jesus, that sucks," Dave says, and puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze before letting go. He lets the silence just sit there for a moment, and then blinks, confused. "...If she's not actually dead, how did your dad remarry?"

"They never were married," he says, with a rueful smile. "According to Dad, she's pretty much gay, he was just barely intelligent enough for her to bother with."

"I see."

"I get the hair from her," Hal says, tugging a lock of his hair, which is almost silver in the sunlight. "She's got partially-expressed albinism. That's a good thing, no pigment at all in your eyes makes your eyesight total crap even with corrective lenses. She still had to wear glasses, but her eyes were blue. Well, still are." 

He stares out into the distance and Dave struggles with the urge to hug him. He could do that with Frank without it being weird, but he hasn't even known Hal a week, it would probably be weird here. He needs to give Frank a call, but he might still be in the woods for that survival training he was going to do this year. As it is he just eats his fruit snacks. They're incredibly sweet, but not too gooey, and they taste like actual fruit was involved at some point.

Hal gives himself a little shake. "Anyway," he says, "enough of that."

"If you say so," Dave says. "Whose job is it to keep anime club from turning into a blood orgy or whatever?"

Hal smiles. "Dr. Marv, you probably haven't met him. I took Statistics with him last year, he's pretty cool. He's Czech, though, got an accent too thick to cut with a chainsaw. The first couple weeks are basically Hard Mode until you learn to understand what the hell he's even saying."

"And he drew the short straw?" Dave asks, unsure how any of this faculty adviser shit for clubs even works.

"Nah, he's an otaku too," Hal says. "Designs games and everything. Some of them are pretty good, even if he does have this weird thing about building the perfect MSX emulator."


	11. Chapter 11

Dave is doing his best not to make any major assumptions about the anime club, but he can't pretend it isn't a huge relief to step into this out of the way classroom and not be overpowered by stink. There's a slight atmosphere, but nothing Dave can't cope with. He's one of three sixteen-year-old boys and their cranky old dad who all actually work out, a little sweat-based humidity isn't going to break him. 

People here actually call Hal 'Otacon' and several of them have even dumber nicknames. There are a couple of girls, two of whom seem pretty normal while the other is wearing cat ears, and Dave has apparently been introduced to the whole room when he glances to the left and nearly jumps out of his skin. There's a scrawny kid crouched on a desk like that's what desks are for, a living shadow in all black, except for vivid red hair over the actual fucking gas mask he's wearing. 

For one tiny split second Dave is sure that he has gone completely insane and is the only one seeing this, when Hal says, "Oh, hey, Mantis. This is Dave."

"Where the fuck did you come from?" Dave can't help asking, his heart trying to slow back down to normal.

Mantis tilts his inscrutable mask to the side. Dave can see himself reflected in the lenses. "Typical question," he says, and he sounds a little like Uncle Ocelot, when he and Dad are starting to truly get drunk and the Russian starts to creep back into his voice.

"Mantis has his ways," Hal says, and then the door opens and Dr. Marv is here, a strange little man in round glasses. It must be him, Dave can't understand a fucking word that comes out of his mouth. 

Part of it must be a gentle reminder about the dress code, because Mantis makes a profoundly irritated noise and pulls his mask off, sliding back off the desk and into the associated chair with eerie grace. He has a pale, pointed face, with strange and livid scars on it that probably explain the mask. Not that it actually makes him that ugly, but then again, Dave's dad is covered in scars and missing an eye, so he's been used to gnarlier since before he could walk.

There's a sign-in sheet, and Dr. Marv seems genuinely pleased to see Dave. He feels like a dog, navigating human speech by tone and the ten whole words he can decipher. Once he has a list of everyone he's gonna be responsible for over the next hour, Dr. Marv cues up today's first episode and vanishes back to his office for a bit.

"Jesus," Dave says to Hal once Dr. Marv is out of earshot, "you took advanced math from that guy?"

Hal laughs. "It wasn't that bad. Math is the universal language and he's been here long enough to use American notation." Apparently no one minds if you talk during the opening theme, which only makes sense, they've all seen it at least a dozen times, so Dave asks him about that, slightly horrified to learn that a decimal point actually isn't a decimal point the world over.

Hal has done his best to get Dave up to speed on this mess they're watching, but Dave can hardly pretend to understand it. Still, the animation and acting could be worse, and the central dichotomy of Earth versus the space colonies is easy to grasp. The weird wartime soap opera shit where a couple of Our Heroes are hiding out with a circus is past understanding, so Dave doesn't waste effort trying, and if he's uneasily reminded of a few of Dad's stories by the pair of OZ randos with their massive stupid boners for war, he doesn't have to say so.

The club takes an intermission between episodes and Dave gets to write Hal's fellow club members off as awkward, but pretty much decent. Well, except for Mantis, crouched on the desk again and just _watching_ everyone. Being Eli's brother, Dave is intimately familiar with the sartorial armor of teen rebellion, so this Hot Topic straitjacket shit doesn't bother him one bit, but there is something genuinely creepy about Mantis. Part of it is the way he just fades into the background, like a good sniper.

Everything is fine until they get most of the way into episode fourteen. With its uninspired 'war is hell' speeches, this show isn't exactly coming on like a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, but Dave is doing fine with it until Heero and this Sylvia girl he picked up are suddenly in a cemetery and he's offering her a handgun and the chance to execute him for being tricked into killing her beloved grandfather and Dad has actually done stuff like this and has the nightmares to prove it. When Heero calmly says that he'll be visiting her grandmother after this, Dave is up and out the door. He probably gave some kind of excuse, it's hard to say. He just feels clammy and maybe dissociated or something, and like he should hide in the bathroom until it passes.

Dave sits on the floor and leans back against the cool tiles of the wall and takes deep, steady breaths. He's actually sweating a little, and feels like a complete fucking asshole. This isn't even about anything that happened to him, for fuck's sake, it's all Dad's damage. But it's like he's six years old again and Dad is sitting at the kitchen table and weeping in the dark, just terrible sounds and the baleful orange eye of his cigarette while the kids are supposed to be in bed.

Even back then, Dad had already had Dave mostly trained not to be afraid of the dark. He always said that there's nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light, but his misery isn't there in the light, not like that. Dave realizes that his eyes are stinging and he scrubs at them with the back of one hand, furious with himself. The sound of the main door's hinges send his heart into his throat and he scrambles to his feet, doing his best to look normal.

"Dave?" Hal calls softly, coming around the corner. He looks like he's trying not to look worried and yet again Dave wants to give the skinny bastard a hug.

"Uh, hey," Dave says, hoping like hell that his eyes aren't red.

"I don't want to be weird or anything," Hal says, "but you've been in here a long time."

"Sorry," Dave mutters, and splashes some cold water on his face, hoping that he doesn't look as shaky as he feels.

"Don't be," Hal says, and his voice is so gentle it makes Dave's eyes burn all over again.


	12. Chapter 12

Dave still feels a little weird by the time he has signed out and gone to his locker for his things, but the preoccupation has lifted enough for him to notice that Hal hasn't said a word, sort of drawn in on himself, hovering at arm's length from Dave. He looks a little like a dog afraid of being kicked, and that's what makes Dave stop, take a breath, and put a hand on Hal's tense shoulder.

"I'm not mad at you," he says, and Hal lets out a nervous laugh, his whole body relaxing just a little under Dave's touch.

"Uh, maybe you should be?" he says softly.

"Fuck it," Dave says, more to himself than to Hal, and then pulls him into a brief, tight hug. "I shouldn't be mad at you," Dave says, a little muffled by all that silvery hair, "and I'm not, okay?"

"...Okay," Hal squeaks, and tentatively hugs back in the moment before Dave lets him go.

"Good," Dave says, with a grin that actually feels like it belongs on his face. "Seriously, other people's pre-existing damage isn't your fault."

"Okay," Hal says again, and adds nothing else on their entire walk down to the side exit. "I, uh..." he begins as they step out into the sunlight, and then seems to lose his courage completely, staring down at his feet.

"You can ask about it," Dave says, and Hal laughs, more a pressure release than anything else.

"Mostly, I just don't want to do that again," he says. "So... I mean, I know when you left, but not exactly why."

"Well... no offense, but it seems like a pretty crappy show--"

"It is, the suit battles are totally lopsided! Sorry."

Dave chuckles. "That too. But one of the only things it seems like it's getting right is how much war fucks people up. I guess..." he shrugs, never comfortable talking about this, "I guess Heero kinda reminds me of my dad. Like, he even started too young, too, it was some seriously shady shit."

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Hal says, and Dave just shrugs again.

"Not like I didn't know it was a war story, this is my fault too. Look, don't worry about it. I'm glad _you_ weren't mad."

After a quick glance around to make sure they're alone, Hal mutters, "Dave, when we first met you helped me mop up my fucking urine, of course I'm not mad."

"You were in there a long time," Dave says, and Hal just laughs and shakes his head.

"I can't believe you sometimes," he says.

Dave grins. "I'm pretty unbelievable," he says, and Hal laughs harder. It's good to see him relax, and for the rest of their walk Dave peppers him with questions about his robot. He only understands about fifty percent of the answers, but so far nothing seems to cheer Hal up quite like robotics.

At the corner, Hal stops and studies Dave for a long moment. "Look," he says, "are you really okay? Don't think I don't see what you're doing."

"All right, guilty as charged, but it was to get you to relax. It sure as shit doesn't make me feel any better to watch you beat yourself up."

Hal grimaces, looking away. "Sorry. I just... I know what it's like to freak out. It sucks."

Dave shrugs. "It does, but don't worry about it. Shit, it's warm out," he adds, hauling off his sweatshirt. It's been bothering him for at least half a block, but it's only now that he can afford to notice.

"Yeah," Hal says, "it's supposed to be about eighty-five on Saturday." He comes over all shy again for a moment, and Dave just waits for him, not surprised when the thing Hal is choking on turns out to be an invitation. "If you wanted, you could come by and help us get some of our last real use out of the pool."

"Haven't been swimming in a while," Dave says, with perfect truth. The last few times were in a river, actually being poolside would be a novelty. "It'd be fun," he says, and then grimaces. "And yeesh, it'd be good to be out of the house."

Hal chuckles. "More atmosphere?"

Dave gags theatrically. "So much, dude. _So much._ The worst part is that Mom is due home in December, so they'll have barely burned it off before they start being disgusting over her, instead."

Hal grins. "Well, just let me know when you need to get out," he says, and there's a moment of near-telepathy as they realize that they should actually exchange phone numbers. That's the work of a moment, and then Hal scampers off down his street, since E.E. will be waiting for him. 

Dave watches him with a fond smile, and then turns for home. Phone already out, he takes the long way for once, so he can call Frank. He goes straight to voice mail, but it's the thought that counts. Frank was supposed to do some kind of survival training this weekend, he's probably already out in the woods.

After all of Dave's worrying about his degenerate old man and his weird uncle, the scene he walks into is positively domestic. Having never outgrown his cowboy phase, Ocelot has a battered old guitar and knows how to use it. He's sitting on the couch, strumming away as Eli sings 'Streets of Laredo,' with Lefty curled up in his lap and watching him intently, ears pricked to catch every note.

The voice is one of those little differences. All of them can sing without actually making anyone's ears bleed, but Eli has range, he can get higher than the rest of them without going into a ball-less falsetto, and his low notes are smoother, only filled with gravel when he wants them to be. Even with all the grossness, it's always good to have Ocelot back, but this is its own moment of gratitude. Ocelot has a way with Eli, and it's good to see his angry brother relaxed for once.


	13. Chapter 13

For all the training Dave has had in strategic thinking, he fucks up pretty hard on the swimsuit thing. Of course his dad doesn't want to go anywhere on Friday afternoon, the traffic is horrible, he hates shopping, and he's probably only malingering a little when he says that his shrapnel is bothering him, but Dave is supposed to swim around normal people tomorrow. 

The only way to not feel self-conscious in the kind of gay-ass little Speedo that Dad insists on is if everyone is wearing them, and there's no way Hal owns anything of the kind. He's probably the kind of guy who wears a t-shirt in the pool, and whatever he favors, his entire family does not need to know which way Dave dresses. They probably won't want E.E. drawing that particular diagram for a few years yet.

Right when Dave is trying to figure out which pair of jeans to cut off, there's a gentle knock on the frame of his open door. He looks up to see Ocelot standing there with a faint, amused smile. "So I hear you need a ride to the mall."

"...Ocelot, I'm sorry for every time I've ever gagged at you making out with Dad."

Ocelot chuckles. "You're much more fair-minded about it than your brothers," he says. "Make yourself something so I don't have to feed you, and let's go."

The rental car is novel on the individual level, but deeply familiar as a type. Dear old Uncle Ocelot never takes anything that doesn't look fast standing still, and he drives this tiny red sports car the way it deserves to be driven, while Dave does his best to keep sandwich crumbs off of the upholstery. Ocelot is polite enough to let him finish it before he starts the interrogation, and Dave appreciates that.

"I'm pleased to see that you already have a friend," Ocelot says, and Dave laughs.

"What do you want to know about him, Uncle Ocelot?"

"All your father has given me is a name, and that Eli put him into a locker and you took him out of it. Naturally, I would like a more complete portrait."

Dave neatly folds his empty brown bag, still smiling, and says, "Well, he's a complete nerd, but the actually smart kind. He's building a robot by himself and the damn thing mostly works. He's really nice to his kid stepsister, and I'm still mad at Eli for fucking with him."

"Eli is having a difficult time," Ocelot says, in a triumph of diplomacy.

"A difficult time not being an asshole," Dave grumbles. "He could at least pick on someone his own size."

"The last time he did that, your father ended up deciding you should move," Ocelot says. "He may have been looking for someone too weak to escalate the situation."

"If Hal is weak," Dave growls, folding up his empty brown bag, "the meek should hurry up and inherit the fucking earth." 

Dave is still trying to get used to the weird protectiveness that knots up in his stomach at times like this. It's like some weird little shift to one side, right near the base of his nature. Not actually uncomfortable, just strange enough to make him a little anxious every time he notices it. Like now. He looks out the window for something to do with his face, and Ocelot chuckles softly.

"It's always good to have someone to care about," he says, and switches lanes, merging toward their exit. 

One of the many things Eli has been bitching about since the move is the lack of retail options here, and even Dave can tell that this is a pretty one-horse operation. Ocelot pulls up to the closest entrance and wanders in after Dave as if he doesn't completely clash with the environment. There can be something really terrible about the way Ocelot doesn't even pretend to be a normal person. Just buying an Orange Julius, he can have the same hallucinatory effect as Mantis appearing out of the woodwork in his gas mask. They both have the ability to operate like cutouts from another movie, and right now Ocelot is like a frame of Unforgiven spliced into Mallrats.

All Dave needs is something to cover himself, but since swimsuit season is technically over, he's left with whatever is on the half-empty clearance racks. It's all odd sizes and weird patterns, and of course Ocelot is no help, finding horrible joke designs and animal print. Dave isn't sure which would be worse, what he already has, or leopard spots.

"These have clown fish on them," Ocelot says, offering Dave a pair that are probably the right size. Dave sighs, draping it over his arm along with a pair that are the kind of pink that sobs into the mirror and tells itself every night that it's salmon.

"Thank you for trying, Uncle Ocelot," he says, and Ocelot laughs.

"You know, back in the seventies, what you already have would have been perfectly acceptable."

"Yeah, that's why everyone says the seventies were gay."

"I don't see how anything could be gayer than now," Ocelot says, rifling through another rack, "just by the numbers. These are cute," he adds, and passes Dave a black pair with neon starfish.

"Now it's all self-conscious, though," Dave says, adding them to the pile. "Looking back, there's this kind of innocence to the whole thing."

"A certain cocaine-drenched, orgy-prone innocence?" Ocelot asks.

"Please don't tell me about the orgies, Uncle Ocelot."

"I would never do such a terrible thing," Ocelot croons, and offers Dave his half-empty drink. 

Ocelot generally agrees with Dad's stance on nutritionally-void food items for growing boys, but when his own resolve cracks in the face of refined sugar, he always shares. Now he lets Dave drain the cup, and waits outside the dressing room to provide moral support and his own idiosyncratically terrible fashion advice.


	14. Interlude: Eli

Eli has been sure that he's going to hate it here since the day they arrived, and spending Friday night staring at the ceiling while 'I Hope You Die' plays on repeat seems like a microcosm of the whole thing. Fucking Dave, always whining about something. He can never mind his own fucking business. Eli's arm still hurts, but really it's not having his phone that's pissing him off right now. There's always something, but in this case he's stuck using this ancient boombox of Dad's for music and he can't text Mantis, who's probably awake right now, the weird little fuck.

On his first day in this suburban hellhole, Eli had found Mantis being harassed by what turned out to be two members of the football team. Hanging back to watch, he had been genuinely impressed with Mantis's eerie calm and the cool, collected way he had arranged things in space and time so that the football players had neatly punched each other in the face. Cursing and groaning, they had gone in search of something to staunch their bleeding noses, and Mantis had turned to Eli, gas mask inscrutable.

"I know you're there," he had said to Eli, and then simply "psychic powers" in response to Eli's question about his training.

Mantis is fucking beyond weird, but he's not like Dave's little pet, who had just gibbered and tried to reason with Eli, struggles so feeble it was barely worth doing to put him into that locker. Eli still isn't certain why Mantis even gave him his number, but sending _im bored_ and getting _Boredom is humanity's first defense against its own pointlessness._ in return is kind of fun, and now he can only get away with it during breaks between classes and way in the back of English, where the teacher never bothers him because he keeps getting a hundred percent on assignments.

He has the volume low, so Dad doesn't get pissed and leave him with no music at all, and he almost doesn't hear a faint scratching sound just below his window. He switches it off to listen more closely, and then there's a quiet but definite tap against the window pane.

Dad doesn't let anyone have a gun without direct supervision because he says kids are too impulsive and that accidents happen, but Eli does have a truly gorgeous bowie knife Ocelot gave him two birthdays ago, and he slides it out from under the mattress as he makes his way to the window. He has to open it with his left hand, and can't help some quiet cursing. Say what he will about Dave, the bastard really can fight.

Mantis is crouched on the window ledge, and tumbles into the room in graceful silence, rolling across the floor to sort of pour himself upward and onto Eli's bed, where he sits at the foot in the lotus position. He looks like he lives here, and Eli makes a near-silent puffing noise of amusement. 

"How did you get past the dogs?" he asks, switching the music back on to cover their voices and Mantis sighs behind his mask.

"Why does no one ever believe me when I tell them I have psychic powers? You're the result of a super-soldier cloning project."

"Fair point," Eli says, and goes over to let Lefty in, where he's scratching at the door and looking guilty. 

He gives Eli an ingratiating wag and then growls quietly at Mantis. Mantis calls him in Russian, and Lefty slinks over, sniffing at Mantis's knee and then letting him stroke his sleek head with one gloved hand. Mantis tells him what a good dog he is, and then switches back to English, still petting him. Usually Lefty won't let anyone outside the family touch him, but now he leans into Mantis's hand.

"See, _that_ makes me believe you have powers and didn't just hack into the school's records or something," Eli says, and sits down on the other end of the bed. Lefty hops up to sprawl between them, and Eli scratches him behind the ears.

"I can hear your thoughts," Mantis tells him, and while that's creepy, it's hardly unexpected. "I like them better than other people's, but don't get cocky."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Eli croons, not even making any effort to keep Mantis from feeling his amusement. Mantis makes an irritated noise, but doesn't move off of the bed.

"You've heard this song ninety-seven times already," Mantis says.

"I don't even like Bloodhound Gang," Eli says, "but I have this on CD and it at least matches my mood."

Mantis unfolds himself, careful to keep his boots off the blanket, and makes his silent way over to switch off Eli's music, pulling out his phone and putting on something of his own at the same volume. It's some kind of insidious, funereal drone/ambient shit, and it's incredible. Lefty cocks his head, just taking in the weird harmonics the same way Eli is.

"What the hell is this?" he asks, and he has a feeling that Mantis is smiling behind his mask.

"You like it?" he asks, refolding himself onto the bed, chunky boots kept off the blanket by his lotus.

"...I don't know if that's the right word," Eli murmurs. There's a weird, dreamy daze to this, a sense of being taken further and further down. It's hypnotic, and Eli would know, he's the only one of his brothers to have learned any tricks from Ocelot. "I might hate it," he says softly, "but it's gorgeous."

"Thank you," Mantis purrs. "I made it myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music Mantis shares is looped for ten hours [here](https://youtu.be/LEMXjWhXmTc). Enjoy its slow and inexorable crawl into your brain! :D


	15. Chapter 15

On Saturday, Dave is filled with renewed appreciation for his ability to just walk over to Hal's. He doesn't need to coax Dad into driving him, he doesn't have to expose the Emmeriches to his weird uncle, he can just throw his stuff into a bag and leave in time to show up at one o'clock. It's hot and dry, perfect pool weather, and Dave is almost too glad to get there to worry about being too naked or coming off as a murder clone, his shirt stuck to his skin with sweat.

E.E. is waiting in the yard, with the officious look of a little kid entrusted with something important. She's wearing her pink glasses again, and her swimsuit matches them, with a little ruffled skirt and a yellow star on the chest. She's also wearing a blue and white striped towel like a cape, and the whole thing makes her look like some surreal superheroine.

"Hi, Dave!" she yells, grinning so big he has no choice but to return it.

"Hey, E.E.! What's up?" he asks, stepping through the gate as she holds it open for him.

"Everyone's in the back yard," she says. "Except Hal, he was waiting with me but had to go to the bathroom."

As if summoned, Hal appears in the doorway. "Oh, hi!" he says. As always, he looks heartbreakingly grateful that Dave has bothered to show up. He's wearing an ancient 'Mathematicians Do It In Theory' t-shirt over enormous blue and green board shorts, and his bare feet are slender and white, looking strangely vulnerable against the concrete.

"Hey," Dave says, "where should I change?"

"C'mon," Hal says, and laughs as E.E. demands a piggyback ride. 

He swings her up onto his back and runs ahead with her, laughter mingling with her joyous squeals. They come to a stop beside a white door, and Dave obeys Hal's gesture to go into what is probably technically a guest bathroom. Dad always insists that the bathrooms be kept sparkling clean, but this one has flowers on the toilet tank and a prism in the window. Dave strips down and gets into his rustling black trunks. They're definitely shorter and tighter than Hal's, but hopefully not too much. He steps out and E.E. grins.

"Starfish!" she chirps, and Dave and Hal both laugh.

"Yep," Dave says, settling his backpack over one shoulder, "starfish."

"They're very '80s," Hal says, as they head for the back door, "but in a good way."

Outside the sun is dazzling. Dr. Emmerich is parked in the shade, stretched out on a lawn chair with a cooling drink and his wheelchair set up on one side, while Julie swims lazy laps, stunning in a white one-piece like something out of an old movie. She stops to stand in the shallows and wave. Hal swings E.E. down, and Dave waves back.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Plisken," Dr. Emmerich drawls, as E.E. splashes into the water with her mother.

"Afternoon, sir," Dave says.

Hal hauls his shirt off, rolling his eyes. "You need more ice while I'm still dry, Dad?"

"No, thank you," Dr. Emmerich says, and Hal chuckles.

"Good," he says, "hold these." 

He sets his glasses on the little table currently holding his father's drink, and then turns to Dave with faintly unfocused pale blue eyes and a bright smile. He's hairier than Dave would have thought, a dark shadow on his chest and a line continuing down his belly. He really is a fucking matchstick, but there's a kind of elegance to it. Hal probably just isn't meant for bulk, but Dave has a feeling that he could really chisel what is there.

"C'mon, Dave," Hal says, and takes a few running steps to give him the momentum to make a clean, beautiful dive from the pool's edge into the deep end. 

Hal's form is so much better than Dave would have expected that for a moment he just stands there with what's probably a very stupid look on his face, but recovering quickly is in the genes, and he dives in after him. The pool is a good one, the deep end actually serious, the shallow end shallow enough for E.E. to stand in.

Dave can see what Hal means about Julie being the fun one, because she enters right into their various games. She and E.E. form a team for Marco Polo, and Dr. Emmerich coughs any time Dave or Hal get near him. Dave of course does not call his host a cheating motherfucker, even if he is one. Besides, if he has to interfere, it's good to take E.E.'s side. She's always so happy to catch them. She manages it all over the pool, and Dave has a feeling that she doesn't really need Julie's physical support, just the emotional kind that's so important to a little kid faced with deep water.

It gets hotter than eighty-five, and sitting on the edge of the deep end with Hal, Dave looks over at Dr. Emmerich, wondering if the shade is even a little adequate. "Did your dad never learn to swim, or what?" Dave has a hard time believing it every time he runs into an adult without this crucial life skill, but it does happen.

Hal shrugs. "It's not like he couldn't, he actually has some motion in his legs, but he just doesn't. Never been totally sure why."

"Well, it's his funeral," Dave says, and slides into the water again.

They spend the whole broiling afternoon splashing around, and it reminds Dave of being a really little kid. It's not like he does nothing but endurance drills when he swims with his own family, and races with his brothers and making his way silently through aquatic obstacle courses are fun, but it's all still awfully structured. Sometimes it's nice to be aimless and silly.

It's probably the lack of athletic challenge that gives Dave time to realize that water-sleek and glassesless is a really good look for Hal. It helps that around E.E. he has a very hard time staying self-conscious. He usually hobbles his natural grace, emphasizing his gangliness in some kind of protective coloration. Dave isn't even sure how voluntary the process is, but it's not happening now.


	16. Chapter 16

It's not like Dave hasn't had a good time, but the walk home seems very long, and he has a lot of time to skim through his mental snapshots of the day and grow gradually more and more perturbed. The ones of Hal managing to be gorgeous and touchable in his scrawny nerd way are really the least alarming of his available options, because of course Dad had sat Dave down (and probably George and Eli, too) and had a little talk about how it's perfectly normal if he finds himself wanting to do some gay shit, that orientation is mostly genetic and that the old man has done some gay shit in his time and continues to do so and that it's nothing to worry about.

"You bring home a boyfriend," Dad had said, taking a pull from his cigar, "I'll welcome him. As long as he's not some kinda little pissant. Same goes for your brothers and for any of this transbinary nongendered shit kids are doing today." He had paused here, for another drag. "And girls don't get a free pass on being little pissants, either."

At the time Dave had just laughed, but it had been a hell of a relief to think back on when he had first started fooling around with Frank and then hopelessly drooling over Mr. Miller, and it is a small comfort now that he's full of questions about such vital matters as how Hal's slender ankles would feel in his grip.

Gay shit is really enough to worry about for one day, but he keeps having this weird sense of Julie's relative location. Which is to say that when he watches Hal, she's right there with him. It's not like Dave's mom doesn't watch him, she watches them all, still sure that they're going to jam a fork into the outlet at any moment, just like most people's moms. The way Julie looks at Hal, though. It's kind of... considering? Maybe she's watching him for mental illness symptoms or something, he's a pretty anxious guy, but it's constant and starting to really get weird. 

Especially because Dr. Emmerich, if anything, _never_ looks at Hal. Dad looks at Dave and his brothers a lot, watching for shit like the time Eli pierced his own ears or the pinkeye that George picked up somehow and brought back to share, to say nothing of correcting their form and of the way he just sometimes watches them play with the dogs with that weird soft look on his face that they pretend not to see. Dr. Emmerich seems almost pained when he occasionally actually lets his eyes rest on his son, and even if it's just because the silver hair makes him think of Hal's mom and get depressed, it still can't be good for Hal and he ought to suck it up.

There's actually something about this fundamental unevenness in Dr. Emmerich and Julie's gaze that makes Dave nervous, and it's starting to really bug him that he can't place it. He wanders down the sidewalk, too absorbed to bother with his usual route. Besides, on weekends there are more people around to complain about some kid on the roof or in the shade tree. He scans his route as best he can from the street, trying to figure out how many eyes are on it right now. He can't see much, but there's definitely an old lady who would spot him climbing over her garden shed, and some little kids in one of the yards.

At least it's easier on Dave's ankles to just walk home and not make that big drop from the husky-grade fence. He smiles at the sound of Snake's joyous howling, and goes straight through the house and into the yard, where the dogs swarm him and Ocelot stands back with his hands in his pockets, looking amused.

"We _were_ seeing how many signals Rex and Harrier know, but I suppose it was time for a break."

"I think I have them up to speed with the huskies, but it's always good to check," Dave says, in between lovingly pummeling the dogs. "Where's Dad?"

"Napping, but he's probably awake now."

"George and Eli?"

"George is at some kind of meeting for junior toastmasters, and Eli is in his room listening to extremely strange music. I was about to get slightly drunk and take him and the dogs for a run."

"Well, I have chlorine to shower off, and he'll enjoy it more without me, anyway," Dave says, and heads inside.

Even with the bad timing of the move and the knowledge that Mr. Miller and Dr. Vic are on the other side of the state and all the other little privations, this house actually has two real bathrooms and two half-baths, which is apparently what you call it when a room just has a crapper and a sink. He can be as thorough as he likes without anyone pounding on the door and yelling for him to stop jerking off in there, they need to take a shit.

It's not like this isn't a prime opportunity to jerk off, but first Dave gets all the chemical stink of the pool off. Only then does he lean back against the slick wall and grip himself where he's already about half-hard because of course he is. Dad is still such a goat at his advanced age, it's a wonder none of his teenage clones has actually exploded. Day to day Dave tries to keep a lid on it, not to be such a goddamn animal, but here and now he lets it all go. Sometimes it feels like he ends up jerking off to everyone he meets, and he really hopes that this isn't going to be a lifelong problem.

Of course this time Dave's unfenceable lust settles on Hal, all fuckin'... gracile, or whatever, like he is. The physics would be all different if Dave were to tackle him to a wrestling mat and dry hump his fucking brains out, and even as he imagines it, it doesn't go down like it always did with Frank. His hand cups the back of Hal's head, protecting it from impact because the guy probably has no idea how to fall, and the flicker of the idea of letting him really take any of Dave's weight goes right to his cock in a bad way. No, he'd have to be real gentle with Hal, take most of the impact, maybe make a half roll to be safe, and hold all that gangly grace close to his chest. 

Hal's just so small, up close. About as tall as Dave, but nothing like as much mass. Dave grips his cock and can't stop a quiet gasp, muffled by the water as he imagines Hal's slender fingers around him, and how delicate his touch might be, experimental and shy at first and then firmer and how he'd probably watch Dave the whole time like some kind of science project, eyes wide behind his glasses as he learns just how to stroke and squeeze, careful with Dave's slick flesh and fuck it really would be, it's slick here and now in the real world with the shower trying to blast it clean.

Dave comes so fast it's kind of depressing, because yeah, this is definitely happening again. It's not like his thing for Mr. Miller, but then again, Mr. Miller and Hal don't have much in common, of course that clouds the issue. Dave barely knows how to be friends, and he grumbles to himself the whole time he's scrubbing himself with yellow bar soap and making sure everything has washed down the drain, deeply irritated to maybe be in love again.


	17. Chapter 17

Given the presence of Eli at Dave's house, Dave isn't even sure if Hal wants him to return all his hospitality until one day at lunch when he finishes telling a story about the dogs and Hal lets out a wistful little sigh.

"I'd like to meet them sometime," he says, and Dave looks away, shrugging.

"I'd be down with that," he says, glancing back, "but I thought maybe you wouldn't want to be within fifty feet of Eli."

Hal just looks at him with those wide eyes, guileless and such a soft blue, and says, "Well, I know you wouldn't let him hurt me."

Dave has to assume this is what it feels like to have your heart melt, and hopes he's not blushing too obviously. He knows his ears are red. "...Uh, yeah," he says, "I wouldn't." He pauses, wondering how much he should tell Hal, and then settles for honesty. "I actually already told him I would break his face if he fucked with you, so yeah."

Hal goes pink. "Oh. Okay." He sits there in silence for a while, and then says, "Thanks, Dave."

Well, at least he doesn't seem freaked out. Dave chuckles. "I guess you're welcome."

"I mean it," Hal says, going from pink to red and hugging his knees to his chest. "Nobody-- you're--" He struggles for a moment, and then finally arrives, with great decision on, "Dave, nobody has ever wanted to fight anyone for me. Thank you."

Dave feels like he might die if nothing breaks the moment, so out of sheer desperation, he grabs an egg shell from his crumpled paper bag and throws it at Hal, hitting him in the shoulder. "What the fuck?" Hal yelps, but he's laughing, too, and returns fire with his empty juice box, which smacks into Dave's chest with a hollow little noise.

For the record, it is Hal that escalates things. He's the first one to grab a fistful of dry grass and its clump of dirt and roots, but he is not the last. He hasn't had all the various evasion drills and target practice that Dave has, but he's a pretty good shot, and by the time the bell rings both of them are filthy and out of breath. There are blades of grass sticking straight up from Hal's scruffy hair, and a smear of dirt along one cheekbone. Dave knows he must look about the same, and grins at Hal, who breaks into the kind of bright, sudden laughter that makes it impossible not to join in. It takes a while to beat the worst of the dirt off their clothes and to pick all of the grass out of their hair. Dave is late to English and Hal is late to Civics and neither of them care.

Dad is not really the best with other parents, but he does have a good sense of what's fair, so that evening when Dave points out that they owe Hal dinner, he just nods, carefully chewing a horrifying wad of gristle from the chicken, heading off Eli's eye-rolling with a gesture of his fork.

"You know that I look forward to meeting any of your little friends, dear," Ocelot says, from his place next to Eli.

"Does that mean I can bring Mantis?" Eli mutters.

"You know Mantis?" Dave asks, and Eli blinks at him.

"Are we talking about Gas Mask Kid?" George asks, and Eli snorts.

"He has a name, George."

"Oh yeah?" George retorts. "What is it?"

There's the moment of simultaneous knowledge that it cannot legally be Mantis, and Eli looks like he's on the verge of exploding before Ocelot puts a gentle but very definite hand on his arm. "George, you should know that some code names just stick."

"Normal people have nicknames, Uncle Ocelot," George says, and Dave can't help a quiet snort of his own.

"Nothing normal about Mantis," he mutters.

"Fuck you!" Eli snaps. "Mantis is way cooler than your latest rescue."

Dad finally gives a last horrible crunch and swallows. "Eli," he says, "when you're no longer grounded for being an asshole, I will be delighted to host whatever freaks you befriend, just as I would for either of your brothers."

Eli sulks for the rest of the meal, but it could be so much worse that Dave can't really care. After dinner Dave texts Hal to let him know that he can come over whenever he wants. Dave fusses over the phrasing for way too long, but finally he manages to get the fucking thing sent and get back to work on his math assignment, which isn't exactly conducive to not thinking about Hal. He'd probably whip right through this, and Dave smiles at the thought of it. He has seen Hal work, he tends to chew on his lower lip and a little and make barely-audible humming noises, long, nervous hands making the pencil twitch and skitter across the page, struggling to keep up with his mind. 

Apparently all those IQ tests on Les Enfantes Terribles showed some really impressive results, but Dave usually feels like an idiot when he has to do any kind of math that's not geometry. This is not geometry, and he's deeply embroiled when his phone emits the quiet blip of a new text. When he picks it up, he blinks, and then feels a slow, silly smile spreading across his face. It's not Hal, but it is Mr. Miller. He usually texts about planned survival exercises and with book suggestions. Mr. Miller is Dad's friend, a teacher, pretty much married, and probably older than Mom, but Dave can't help the warm glow he gets at times like this.

_settling in? it looked like a good place._

_yes sir_ it always feels weird to text the 'sir,' but he can't bring himself to leave it off. He adds, _the dogs have lots of room to run. how are dr vic and ms quiet?_

_same as ever. quiet says she can still make the time to teach you kids to use a crossbow, even with the commute._

Dave asks Mr. Miller to thank her for him, both out of genuine gratitude and because he prefers to stay on the good side of someone like Quiet.


	18. Chapter 18

Dave is already getting used to the way Hal's shyness makes him hang back and then vault forward, so he lets Tuesday pass on by, and on Wednesday makes an actual invitation to dinner on Thursday, on the assumption that now Hal can take it without freezing like a rabbit.  The idea seems to do more than cross his mind, but he manages to smile and accept without any overt signs of debilitating panic. Dave would keep it more casual, but he figures E.E. deserves some notice.   
   
When the time actually comes, Hal gets weirdly jittery about two blocks out, and Dave stops him under a tree, putting his hands on Hal's shoulders.  The touch cuts him off right in the middle of a slightly fevered digression about robots. "Hal," Dave says, "breathe." Hal obediently sucks in a huge breath, wobbling slightly. "That's better," Dave says, patting him and then letting go of his bony little shoulders because they feel too nice in his hands.   
   
"Sorry, I just--"   
    
"Look. Dad is just fucking happy anyone even wants to come over, all right? He _wants_ to like you."   
    
"...You think?"   
    
"I know, so calm down."   
    
"Sorry," Hal mutters, sort of hugging himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, nervous hands holding onto the opposite sleeves of his jacket.   
    
"It's okay," Dave says, a bit more softly than he means to. He wants to lovingly pet Hal's hair a bit, but that would be beyond weird. "Come on," he adds, and does gently take Hal's wrist, towing him for a few steps before letting it go. Hal trots after him and does start talking about robots again, but in a calmer way.   
    
As they approach the house, Dave can see Hal marveling at the height of the fence. It really does make the place look like some kind of secured compound. Actually, probably anywhere Dad lives automatically counts as a secured compound, but still.   
    
"You need twelve-foot fencing with huskies," Dave says, leading the way to the much more approachable front door.  "You would not believe how high the bastards can jump, and some of them can climb trees."   
    
"Seriously?"   
    
"Seriously," Dave says. "I've seen Snake do it."   
    
Naturally, the dogs are all barking and howling their heads off as they approach, and Dave grins. He opens the front door and the pack comes charging up, all of them leaping and frisking joyfully to see Dave, even Lefty, who most emphatically does not share the rest of the pack's belief that a stranger is a friend they haven't met yet. Hal beams right back at them, and crouches to pet Rex and Harrier, laughing as they lick his face with all their golden retriever enthusiasm. The huskies come to Dave first, but soon Snake and Ripper are also greeting Hal, wagging as he pets them each in turn. Lefty hangs back, but doesn't seem actively hostile.   
    
Dave introduces Hal to each dog, with the addendum not to touch Lefty unless and until he actually comes up and asks Hal to pet him. "He's kind of a little shit," Dave says, "but he's not _really_ a mean dog."   
    
"Dave," Dad hollers from inside, "bring your friend in, we want to meet him!"   
    
Hal goes a little pale at that, but bravely stands up and lets Dave lead him inside.  Dad, Ocelot, and George are all sitting around the kitchen table, and Dave is deeply touched to see that they have cookies and sandwich fixings available.  Hell, the cookies are even homemade, those wonderful molasses spice ones that Ocelot makes according to Grandma’s ancient recipe.   
   
Dad grins at Hal, and stands up, offering him one broad, callused hand.  Hal put his own out like he expects it to be crushed, but of course Dad is gentle with him.  “Hey, kid,” he says, shaking Hal’s hand and then letting him go.  “Pleased to see you here.  You hungry?”   
    
“Uh, yeah.  I mean, yes sir, a bit.”   
    
“You don’t have to sir me if it doesn’t come naturally,” he says.  “George, get the kid a drink.  We’ve got milk, vegetable juice, and regular orange.”   
    
Hal goes with milk, which is really the wisest choice in the face of this rare bounty of delicious cookies.  George pours for him and for Dave, and Ocelot makes Dave a neat roast beef on rye while asking Hal what he would like.  Hal ends up being more of a turkey, lettuce, and tomato guy, and Ocelot fixes it up for him as Hal washes dog slobber off of his face and George comes back with the milk.    
    
“Thanks, uh…” Hal hesitates, not knowing Ocelot’s last name to mister him, or probably even his first name.  Dave has only told him what it was once, and even that was a while ago.   
    
“Call me Ocelot,” Ocelot says, and washes the lunchmeat smell off of his hands before taking Hal’s in a nice, friendly shake.   
   
George does the same, and while he can be a little stodgy sometimes, he really is good at having company.  Dave’s heart swells with brotherly love to see him sit down next to Hal and ask him how he likes the dogs and if he enjoys spice cookies.  Naturally, Hal loves the dogs, and he is fond of spice cookies.   
    
“You know,” Hal says, after a few bites of his sandwich, “Dave says you try not to keep sweets in the house, Mr. Plisken.”   
    
“I do, but these are a family recipe,” Dad says.  “Besides, they’re loaded with black strap molasses, at least you’re getting some iron and B vitamins with your sugar.”   
    
“Doesn’t help that they’re your not-so-secret vice,” Dave teases, and Dad snorts.   
    
“Quit bein’ right,” he says, and takes a cookie from the plate.   
    
Hal also samples one, and his eyebrows raise in pleased surprise.  “Wow, these are really good,” he says, and the look on his face when Ocelot preens a little and thanks him is purest comedy gold. 


	19. Chapter 19

The thing about Dad is, rough around the edges as he is, he understands hospitality. He’s actually very gracious, in a kind of Viking warlord way, assuring Hal that he needn’t help wash the glasses and telling him to make himself at home. Hal tells him that he will, nervous but resolute, and scampers to the stairs after Dave.

“Why the hell are there pin-ups everywhere?” Hal hisses, once they’re out of most people’s earshot. Dad probably heard that, but he won’t take it personally.

“Cause Dad likes to have pretty pictures on the walls and doesn’t understand real art,” Dave says, shrugging. There’s no lift here, but there is a handrail, and Hal trails one hand along it the same way he does at home.

“Your mom doesn’t care?” he asks, long fingers caressing the wood in a way that’s kind of distracting.

“I think she thinks it’s funny,” Dave says, and looks away. “She critiques their fashion choices and picks favorites,” he adds as he leads the way into his room, pleased to see that Eli hasn’t booby-trapped it. He must be too busy sulking, his angriest available music turned up just high enough to irritate Dad but not enough to make him do anything about it. Hal doesn’t even seem to notice, too busy staring at Dave’s room.

“Wow,” Hal says, looking around in real surprise. It is pretty spartan next to Hal’s set-up. Dave isn’t much for interior decoration at the best of times, and they haven’t lived here long enough for things to accumulate naturally.

“Yeah, I haven’t had a lot of time to fix it up,” Dave says, and Hal shakes his head.

“No, it’s just so _clean_. I can never keep it together like this.”

Dave shrugs, not even sure why he feels so awkward. “Dad has this thing about cleared escape routes, and Mom can be really picky.”

There’s nowhere to sit but the bed, so Hal does, and Dave just tries not to have some kind of mild freakout. The bed is made with nurse’s corners, the way Dave does it every day. As Hal settles onto the blue blanket, he blinks and reaches between the mattress and the box spring with an inquiring little noise. Before Dave can warn him, he pulls out thirteen inches of gleaming Bowie knife.

Hal yelps in surprise, and Dave snaps, “That’s live, watch the edge.”

“I really fucking hope live doesn’t mean ‘electrified’ in this context, Dave,” Hal says, holding it straight ahead, both hands on the handle. They’ll need to work on knife safety, but it could be worse.

“No, it just means that it has a real edge and isn’t some kind of replica.”

“Oh,” Hal says, and sets it down on the bed, standing up. “Good thing I didn’t cut myself on it.”

“There’s a sheath,” Dave says, kneeling and pulling it out, “I’m not a complete lunatic.”

“I don’t know much about knives,” Hal says, “but I can tell that it’s beautifully made.”

“It is a gorgeous piece of work,” Dave agrees, sliding it back into the sheath. “Ocelot gave them to us on our fourteenth birthday.”

Hal smiles. “Of course he did, jeez.”

Dave hands him the sheathed knife, and watches him read the motto embossed into the leather.

“What does ‘Who Dares, Wins,’ mean, anyway?” Hal asks, and Dave laughs.

“That’s the RAF motto,” he says, “and also Grandma’s personal creed.”

“Yeah, but dare to win what?”

He tucks the knife back into its place, and sits on the bed, gesturing for Hal to join him. It ends up taking Dave a full ten minutes to explain a three-word sentence to Hal, and it’s almost a relief. Most people as smart as Hal have some pocket of bone-deep stupidity in their nature, and this one is fairly harmless.

Once comprehension has finally dawned, Dave takes Hal down to Dad’s study so he can check out the old photos of Grandma, who really was a stone fox in her day. There’s also a recent one, sent from the ranch last Christmas. She’s squinting into the sun, making her wrinkles even deeper, and Ocelot swears that the smudge beside her is his father’s ghost. All these years, and Dave still isn’t sure if he’s fucking with them or not.

“She kind of looks like Ocelot,” Hal says after looking at everything, and Dave chuckles.

“That’s probably ‘cause she’s his mom. She’s just _like_ a mom to Dad, and that’s good enough for grandma-ing.”

“Huh. So they kind of _are_ brothers, but not enough to make it creepy.” He pauses. “Well, creepier.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dave says. “Come on, the longer we stay in here, the greater our odds of fucking something up, and we’d never hear the end of it.”

In the living room, Hal turns out to be utter shit at darts, and is pleased to quit menacing the walls in favor of taking the dogs for a walk. He has never been up into the hills in this direction, and Dave is pleased to show him the place, with its spreading trees and unexpected little hills and hollows.

Stopped at the top of one of the higher hills to let Hal catch his breath, Dave shades his eyes with one hand and scans the park. Hal watches him with a smile. “Do we have it to ourselves?”

“As far as I can survey, yeah,” Dave says. “Privacy is great and all, but sometimes hot college girls jog through here. ‘Moderation in all things,’ my survival trainer says.” Dave pauses, and grins. “And then he always adds, ‘including moderation’ and I always wonder how that works out for him.”

“Sounds like an interesting man,” Hal says, still panting a little.

“Anyway, when a girl bends down to pet a dog you have a great vantage point.”

“You’re the dog!” Hal says, laughing at him. “I am shocked, shocked at your disgusting behavior, young man!”

“Snake is a complete chick magnet, he’s more shameless than I could ever be,” Dave says, and they both laugh so hard they have to start catching their breath all over again.

By the time they get home, dinner is ready, and as everyone gathers around the table, Dave has to admit to himself that Hal looks very small and like the spindliest of nerds, bracketed by Dave on one side and George on the other.

“Take all you want,” Dad says as they pass the dishes around, “but eat all you take.” That, along with ‘it’s all good protein’ is probably the closest thing they have to a family grace. Hal may barely serve himself by Plisken family standards, but he shows a good willingness to eat everything on the table, which always earns points with Dad.

There’s never that much dinner conversation around here, but after the first devouring, Hal says, “You know, I never understood why some guys take how much they can eat as some kind of macho thing, but now I’m starting to get it.”

Ocelot almost chokes on his drink, and Dad grins. “I guess we’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, and gives Eli a Look when he rolls his eyes. For once, Eli has the sense not to say anything, and Dave can even pick out what might be grudging admiration in his face at the way Hal blithely ignores him.


	20. Interlude: Hal

As October comes on, the weather turns rainy, the grey sky sitting there like a heavy lid. It’s Hal’s turn to welcome Dave into his space, since their spot outside is always either actively being rained on, or still soggy from the last time. Really, it’s not like the computer lab isn’t comfortable. Technically, no one is supposed to eat in here, but Hal gets away with it because he’s careful and always sits at one of the empty spots, where even if he spills it won’t go directly into any vital components.

Dave definitely takes their commitment not to fuck up anything expensive very seriously, and there’s something really endearing in how careful he is. Half the time Dave moves like he has to apologize for his strength, and for his heavy hands with all their little scars. 

Hal has no real plans for Halloween, but it seems right to get into the spirit of the season, and that’s why he’s watching Vocaloid horror at one o’clock on Saturday morning. A light rapping at his window makes him choke on his drink, and his heart is pounding as he picks up a claw hammer in one hand and his phone in the other as he tiptoes over to see who or what is at his window.

“You asshole!” he hisses at the sight of Dave, and Dave just grins. When Hal opens the window he crawls into the room with a fluid grace that makes Hal’s mouth go dry. He’s probably gay for Dave, but even if he wasn’t, the guy would be fucking gorgeous. 

Hal has been trying to figure out just how he feels about Dave, but he’s pretty sure the way he watches those hands isn’t exactly straight. Then again, his crush on Wolf hasn’t gone anywhere. She barely seems to know he’s alive, but she did give him that handkerchief and he doesn’t know if she hasn’t asked for it back because she’s grossed out at the thought of him touching it or because she actually wants him to keep it.

“Sorry,” Dave says, running a hand through his wet hair, “I was just out and ended up here. Saw your light, thought I’d check if you were still up.”

“You could’ve texted me,” Hal grumbles, trying not to look at the shelf where he keeps Wolf's handkerchief.

“It’s pissing down out there,” Dave points out, and hauls off his soaked jacket and the sweatshirt beneath it. It pulls the hem of his t-shirt up to his chest, and Hal wonders if his skin feels as smooth as it looks. As for those ridiculous abs, Hal isn't sure whether he wants to touch or to have them himself.

“I guess,” Hal says, as Dave pulls his phone out of the sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket and starts wiping it dry on the hem of his t-shirt. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, you just startled the hell out of me.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dave says, and he’s got that look again, like he’s beating himself up for being scary.

“It’s okay,” Hal says. “I was watching some creepy things, that was probably at least half of it.”

Dave grins. “Scaring yourself before I could even get to it, huh?”

"Hey, it's the reason for the season," Hal says with a shrug. He takes his glasses off and cleans them, since they do need it and it gives him something to do with his hands. "I feel like terrifying the hell out of yourself every now and then lets you know whether or not certain key systems are still online."

"You would put it like that," Dave says, but in an affectionate kind of way. Hal is pretty sure, anyway.

“Pretty much. Have a seat and I’ll show you how fucked up Vocaloid gets.”

“Seriously?" Dave asks, settling on the floor by the bed. "You are such a nerd," he says, no real malice. "I think I can handle whatever your robot chipmunk friends get up to for Halloween,” Dave says. "Best friend I had at my old school is a complete goddamn maniac, he's shown me some weird shit."

Hal brings his laptop over, sitting on the foot of the bed and skipping back to the beginning of Rotten Girl Grotesque Romance. 

Dave pays it polite and tolerant attention, murmuring, “She’s gonna go full stalker, isn’t she?” a moment before Miku does just that. Hal quietly sings along as Miku burns pictures of her rival before delivering her head and upper torso to the beloved object, with things only getting more screwed up from there. 

“Fucking hell,” Dave mutters, eyes wide, “that got dark.”

Hal can’t help laughing. “You want to see something that escalates quickly, hang on.” Bacterial Contamination is a personal favorite, and it’s easy to find. “I’ve always really liked the designs in this,” he says, “and the message.”

Dave stiffens as the real body horror starts, staring as things get steadily more insane. “...What the fuck even is this?” he asks, and Hal snickers.

“I told you it gets fucked up,” he says, and Dave rolls his eyes. He shudders a little as the video turns into the glorious full-on bug-and-skeleton hoedown that it does, and Hal just sighs in satisfaction because this song really speaks to him.

Dave looks pretty tense by the end, but rolls his eyes and mutters that he’s fine, don’t even ask. So Hal doesn’t ask, and puts on Kagome Kagome. The opening notes of the song send shivers down his spine the way they do every time, and he settles in to be comfortably terrified. By about thirty seconds in, Dave moves up onto the bed, drawing his feet up the same way Hal has. He’s pressed tight against Hal’s side, and a few seconds later, Hal realizes that he’s actually trembling a bit.

“Uh, we can stop--”

“No, we’re seeing this through to the end,” Dave growls, even as he presses himself against Hal’s side.

They do see it through to the end, but by the time the end comes, Dave has wrapped himself up in Hal’s blanket, and his eyes are huge. It is pretty goddamn creepy, and the room and the night outside seem even darker than they did before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Included for audience participation:
> 
> [Rotten Girl Grotesque Romance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FvRKOfqoc8)
> 
> [Bacterial Contamination](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgmwBuuMvqc%20)
> 
> [Kagome Kagome](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvrv1YZWjRY) (I hereby warn you not to click that, knowing that such a warning is only an inducement.)


	21. Chapter 21

Dave is going to get up and make his way home through the rain and the darkness and he's just going to ignore any Japanese folk songs sung by undying semi-ghost experiment victims. He'll be _fine_. He keeps telling himself that as he tries to steady his hands, so busy with that that it takes him a while to register that more Japanese music and animation has started up. He glances up, wondering if this is where all that quintuple penetration by tentacle demons that he has heard about comes into it, and then blinks at something much more wholesome.

"Hal, why the fuck are we watching Sailor Moon?"

"Because the time EE walked in on the part in Rotten Girl where the guy opens the box, this fixed her right up."

Dave has caught a few episodes of Crystal, but he has never seen any of the old show. It's much less stiff this way, even if the theme song does sound like it was made on a music box. Hal is of course mouthing the lyrics, and Dave grins at him. 

He just shrugs. "If I end up babysitting my kid sister at least twice every week, she's getting some culture."

"See, now you sound like Mr. Miller," he says, and then hopes like hell that he isn't blushing. His ears are probably red, but the room is dim. Breaking off completely in the middle is obvious, so he makes himself go on. "He was very insistent about familiarizing us with Kurosawa as soon as we were old enough to sit still."

"So was he just always around, or what?" Hal asks, and Dave smiles sadly.

"Not always. Even though they're total friends for life, there's some shit between him and my dad, and then Ms. Quiet had their baby and he was really busy for like, five years there. We started seeing more of him after Dad had taught us most of what he knew about surviving in the woods," Dave says. "That was just before our fifteenth birthday, I think." He knows it was, that he was in the last days of being fourteen when Mr. Miller came to collect them all for a weekend in the woods. "He taught us how to fish with our bare hands, but we didn't catch much. Had fun trying, though, even if he is always harder on us than Dad would be."

"Of course you know how to fish with your bare hands," Hal says, and he looks so genuinely fond that Dave does blush.

"Well, you know. It's the kinda thing we're good at." He looks at the screen again, because it's a safe thing to look at, and blinks in belated realization. "Aren't these subtitles hard for E.E.?"

"Nah, she's really smart."

"It's weird that you guys are so much alike," he says, and Hal shrugs, not looking at him.

"For all the good being smart has ever done me. I worry sometimes, that being around me all the time is making her too weird to get on in life any better than I have."

"She's lucky to have you," Dave says, and Hal knocks his shoulder against Dave's.

"Quit it," he says, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. Dave knocks back, careful to keep the force of it well-contained.

"She is, both my brothers are dicks. Eli more, but George really is just like Dad, so he's an asshole. I don't know what the hell I'd do if either of them were any bigger or older than me. Well." He pauses for a moment, thinking it over. "I guess Frank would've helped me lay tripwires and sabotage their dates and whatever else I'd have to be doing. Frank Jaeger, the maniac."

"The one who failed to prepare you for the power and majesty of my squeaky robots?" Hal asks, sweetly. Dave rolls his eyes.

"I should've known not to underestimate Japan in the Seriously Fucked Up Sweepstakes," Dave grumbles, and Hal laughs. "Anyway, Frank is a hell of a lot of fun in a fistfight and you'll probably meet him sometime, at least over Skype. He does love him some horror, but we mostly stuck to monsters and normal humans with machetes and bad attitudes."

"Amateurs," Hal says, and Dave snorts.

"Jerk. Makin' fun, when I'm all emotionally compromised and shit."

"If you're too emotionally compromised you can sleep here," Hal says, and Dave wonders if he'd go to hell for milking this a little bit. And then a branch taps on the window, a branch of the same goddamn tree Dave climbed in the first place, and he jumps and only doesn't yelp because he clamps his jaw shut, pressing against Hal's side again.

"Hey," Hal murmurs, and he puts one skinny arm around Dave. "It's all right. C'mere." He pulls Dave even closer, and puts the other arm around him. "Sorry I traumatized you," he says, and Dave snickers, taking advantage of the moment to tuck his head under Hal's chin, breathing in his scent in a way that's hard to get away with in any other position. Dave will collect himself in a minute.

A minute turns into at least five, and Dave is surprised that Hal is still holding on. His heart rate is going up, he's probably going to let go and give Dave a friendly shoulder punch to keep things not-gay. Instead, he says, voice quick and a little strained, "Okay so look, this is a lot of cuddles for a couple of straight guys in America but I know that homosocial military environments have their own rules and have had a huge impact on your family culture...'

"That's a lot of words to ask if I'm gay," Dave says, trying not to laugh.

"If you know what I'm asking, answer the damn question!" Hal snaps, and then Dave does laugh, keeping it as quiet as he can. Hal hasn't drawn back at all, so it's easy for Dave to muffle himself in his shoulder. "You are cloned from a bisexual guy," Hal says, as much to himself as to Dave. He sounds like he's flipping through an extensive set of mental notes on genetics.

"I am," Dave mumbles, and he can feel a really stupid smile spreading across his face because Hal still hasn't let go. Those long, nervous fingers are knotted up in the back of his shirt, doing the exact opposite of letting go.

"So... uh..." Hal points out, and Dave nuzzles his shoulder, fighting the urge to just test Hal's collarbone with his teeth.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, feeling Hal's heart rate speed up under his cheek.

"I... look," Hal says, in the exasperated tone of a man who has had to gather a lot of courage to speak at all, "can I kiss you?"

"God, yes," Dave breathes. Frank never kissed him on the mouth, and his lips ache now the way they sometimes did then. The older Dave gets the more he understands why adults are always comparing being horny to being hungry.

Hal manages to unknot one hand, and he uses it to cup Dave's jaw, tipping his face up at a workable angle. Hal's pulse is still rabbiting, but he leans right in and just brushes his lips against Dave's, like he's testing the connection. Before Dave can even decide how far to push this, Hal relaxes a little. He kisses kind of like he does everything else; tentative, but not as shy as he seems at first.


	22. Chapter 22

Dave has kissed girls before, and it's great, but this is about equally great. He and Hal both have a little stubble starting by now, and the gentle rasp of it is nicer than Dave would've expected. Their teeth click a few times, not exactly in practice, and Hal's glasses are definitely in the way, but it's not enough to discourage either of them.

As much as Dave wants to not pressure or intimidate Hal in any way, he can't help making a little whimpering noise in his throat as he does his best not to just climb into Hal's lap, desperate to get closer but not sure how. It's a huge relief when Hal solves the whole problem by guiding Dave down onto his back and then stretching out beside him. It's a little like when Frank would get him pinned, but so much softer and sweeter. Dave sighs, burying his fingers in Hal's hair and nibbling at his lower lip, making him shudder and gasp.

"Fuck," Dave mutters into Hal's mouth, "I've been trying so hard to not act like I'm queer for you."

"Hey," Hal breathes, "I did have to ask."

"You're just really nice to touch," Dave tells him, gripping and kneading different muscle groups as he maps Hal's shoulders and the back of his neck, making him shiver and laugh at the same time.

"Thanks, but we both know who's hotter," Hal says, pushing Dave's shirt up just enough to slide one palm over his belly. "Jesus, you're cut," he mutters, more to himself, and Dave laughs quietly, kissing him again.

Shy as Hal is, they don't even get their shirts off, but that's okay. By the time Dave has to climb out the window and down the tree into the spooky darkness, he's glowing with endorphins and actually kind of enjoying his case of blue balls. At the base of the tree he looks up, grinning at Hal, who grins back and waves before he shuts the window.

The trip home is a little creepy, but not nearly as bad as it would be without the periodic surges of undeniable joy. Any time something starts to get to him, he remembers Hal asking to kiss him and feels like doing a goddamn cartwheel. It's hard not to burst out laughing, and he loops around the house and into the hills to burn off some this energy. By the time he comes to the end of his massive loop, it's later than he really wants it to be, and he's not all that surprised when he comes tiptoeing into the kitchen to see Ocelot leaning against the counter, wrapped in Dad's bathrobe and drinking coffee out of the Hello Kitty mug Eli got him as a gag gift years ago. 

Without a word, Ocelot looks Dave up and down and raises an eyebrow. One of the worst things about Ocelot is that he always gives the impression of knowing _exactly_ what a person has been doing all night. Eli does the most sneaking out and thereby ends up on the receiving end the most often, but no one in Ocelot's orbit is safe.

"Have a nice run?" Ocelot drawls, taking another sip of coffee.

"Fuckin' phenomenal," Dave says, and pulls the orange juice out of the fridge, drinking straight from the carton since he's just going to finish it off anyway. Mom always complains, but Dad and Ocelot understand these things. Now Ocelot just silently watches Dave guzzle the juice, and Dave does his best to ignore him. Ocelot can see right through any of them, so there's no real point in worrying about it.

"Dave?" Ocelot says at last, poised to wander out with his coffee.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe a spot of concealer," he says, fingertips tapping the side of his own neck.

Dave can feel himself blushing, and flees to the downstairs bathroom, where Mom's Emergency Makeup is stashed in the first drawer on the right, as always. She's fairer and pinker than they are, but not by a whole lot, and Dave is sure that in the various brands of foundation available, something will be right. After rejecting a few as just different enough from his own skin tone to be obvious, Dave finds some shaped almost like a lipstick that's a shade darker and a little more gold, and then cranes his neck as he examines his reflection. Sure enough, one of Hal's shy little mouse-nips has actually left a mark, low on the left side. He wonders what it would take to get Hal to bite him properly, and shivers.

Since no one else is using the stuff anyway, Dave smears a little on to be sure it works and in case he meets anyone else on the stairs, and then pockets the stick, heading to the upstairs bathroom because that's where his toothbrush lives. He washes the concealer off as part of his normal evening ablutions, and manages to cover the twenty-five feet or so to his room without being spotted. Just as he's crawling into bed, he gets a text from Hal:

 _not that i'm panicking or anything but did that actually happen_ attached is a gif of a kitten staring at a friendly parrot in what looks like mingled terror and awe.

 _yes_ Dave sends back.  
_u ok?_

He closes his eyes while he waits for a reply. He really fucking hopes Hal is okay, and not just for the obvious reason, but because he's hard again and will really feel like an asshole about it if Hal is freaking out.

 _i think i'm freaking out_ Hal sends, and Dave grimaces because he hates it when he's right.  
_but in a good way? idek_ the relief is immediate and profound, and Dave knows that he's grinning like an idiot.

 _i just put concealer on the hickey u gave me_ Dave sends.

 _whoops ^///^_ Hal responds, and once Dave parses the 'blushing but pleased with itself' anime smiley, he grins.

_i was kinda sad there was only one_

It takes Hal long enough to respond that Dave actually does rub one out, panting and biting his lip to stay quiet as he imagines his own hand as Hal's beautiful, delicate one. The text tone when Hal does reply jolts Dave out of a doze, but he smiles when he reads it:

_i could fix that for you later_  
_if you want_


	23. Chapter 23

Dad may be a hardass, but he doesn't expect his sons to get up before eleven on Saturday. Ocelot probably ratted Dave out, since he wakes up on his own at one pm, instead of two hours earlier to Dad bodily hauling him out of bed. Dave gets dressed and applies his concealer before going downstairs, which turns out to be a very sound tactical decision. George has already left for some fucking Toastmasters thing, but Eli is sitting at the table, slouched over a bowl of Cheerios, the most interesting cereal Dad will buy. 

This must be second breakfast, since any time Dad hauls Eli out of bed when he doesn't want to go, Eli drags the entire household into it, but Dave isn't sure if Eli woke up with his hair like that or if this is the result of careful work with some kind of styling goop. The OPEN MOUTH INSERT GUN t-shirt really pulls the look together.

"Nice shirt," Dave mutters, pouring himself a bowl. At least there's some fruit to put on the stuff.

"Thanks. Who'd you sneak out to screw?"

Dave rolls his eyes and does his best not to blush as he opens the fridge to get the milk and look at his options. "We can't all be sluts like you, Eli."

"At least I can actually get some," Eli drawls, and Dave snorts, pulling out the box of strawberries at last, shutting the fridge. As far as he knows, Eli has made it with one girl, and she threw him out right afterward and didn't call and Eli wouldn't even admit that he was hurt by that and was even more of a dick than usual for three weeks. 

It's probably not kind to say, "Yeah, but we all know you can't keep it," but Dave does it anyway. He can see the struggle behind Eli's eyes, that he's torn between flipping the table and using Dave to break everything in the kitchen and keeping an eye to the longer game, where even if he won the fight (far from a guarantee) that he would just end up grounded again when his current term is almost up.

"Keep it up and I'll cut you in ways that will make you useless to a woman," Eli growls, hunched over his bowl. So he's playing the long game today. Good, he's easier to deal with when he's like this.

"You wouldn't have the balls," Dave says, slicing berries. "You'd get mine halfway off and then start crying for Ocelot." 

Eli actually laughs. "If I could find them in the first place, maybe," he says, and Dave snorts.

"You want a couple of these?" he asks, gesturing to the berries on the cutting board, and after a moment's pause, Eli nods. 

Dave just nods back and carefully slices the bright red fruit. Mom would hull them, but as far as the rest of the family are concerned, it's all good fiber. He makes nice, even piles, one for him and one for Eli, and then scrapes one into his brother's bowl and one into his own.

Sometimes being with Eli really is easy. Dave is actually sorry for making that crack about the girl who took Eli's virginity and then ghosted on him, but he knows Eli would just make fun of him if he apologized. It's better this way, the two of them quietly crunching Cheerios, the kitchen lit by blocks of golden afternoon sun.

After Dave's belated breakfast, he gets a text from Hal:  
 _i'm babysitting E.E. from about six to whenever and she says it's okay if you come over._

 _dad will want to kno what ur parents say, but yes_ , Dave sends.

 _it doesn’t really matter_ Hal sends.  
 _they’re cool as long as i don’t steal their liquor or impregnate anyone_

Julie and Dr. Emmerich are going out to some kind of awards gala for eggheads, and it’s really weird that she looks like a million bucks and is still kind of putting Dave off. He should be sneaking peeks down the front of her low-cut dress and feeling lucky, but somehow he’s too busy watching her watching Hal. He wishes he knew what the fuck was going on around here, and it’s not the kind of thing he can just ask Hal, especially with E.E. demanding that they join her and her tiny plastic ponies for a tea party.

Dave isn’t much good at tea party related things, but E.E. is a gracious hostess, and the ponies all politely introduce themselves. Hal already has an encyclopedic knowledge of My Little Pony, but the only kid E.E.’s age that Dave regularly hangs out with is Mr. Miller’s daughter Catherine, who’s much more of a Monster High fan.

All in all, E.E. is a pretty easy kid to deal with. Beyond being about the same age and size as Catherine, they can both take charge of a game of pretend without being too bossy. E.E. is nerdier than Catherine, more sci-fi than fantasy. Dave is equally happy to be a magical talking wolf or a robot, but the stylistic contrast is stark. It is a relief to set her in front of the TV while Hal attempts to make dinner, but only because keeping up with the deranged and zipping thoughts of little kids is tiring by its very nature.

“Thanks for being so good with E.E.,” Hal says softly, as he fills a pot with water and Dave chops vegetables.

“It’s easy,” Dave says, “she’s a sweet kid.” He glances over at Hal, and can feel himself blushing a little at the look on his face, so full of affection. Hal puts the pot on the stove and then comes over and tentatively kisses Dave, sighing softly and relaxing into it as Dave wraps his arms around him.

“We should probably talk about this,” Hal mutters after a while, and Dave chuckles.

“After the kid’s in bed, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hal whispers.


	24. Chapter 24

For all of Hal’s protests that he can’t cook, spaghetti with jarred sauce and a few extra vegetables is pretty hard to fuck up. There’s plenty to go around, too, which as far as Dave is concerned is the most important part. E.E. devours her portion and then insists on cupcakes for dessert. These are just a mix, but it’s still a pretty involved project, and Dave is glad that he’s here to help clean up the chaos. Still, the cakes turn out pretty well and E.E. has a good time making them and slathering them in pink frosting, so it’s probably worth it.

A few rounds of Uno take up the actual baking and cooling time, and at about half-past eight, E.E. can stuff herself with four cupcakes. At least they’re small ones, and she’s not too bloated as Hal takes her upstairs to put her to bed. Dave makes a quick pass over the kitchen to get all the frosting and crumbs off of the counters, rinses the dishes, and sweeps the floor. He can’t do much else, since he doesn’t really know where anything goes in the kitchen, but when Hal comes downstairs again, he stares, and then mutters something about how Dave is company and shouldn’t bother about this.

“Do I really still count as company?” Dave asks, and Hal blushes, his hand going to his left shoulder, where Dave bit him last night.

“Sorta?” Hal says, and then bites his lip, hesitating, before he crosses the kitchen and puts his arms around Dave. Dave gathers him in against his chest and Hal makes a soft little noise, nuzzling the side of Dave’s neck. The pleasant prickling of his stubble makes Dave shiver, and he threads his fingers through Hal’s hair, holding him there.

“Weren’t we supposed to talk?” Hal murmurs against Dave’s skin, his lips unbearably soft.

“Yeah,” Dave sighs, sliding his hands down to Hal’s hips. “Maybe we can multitask.”

“Well,” Hal says, lips still brushing against Dave’s neck with every syllable, “what were we going to talk about?”

“I dunno,” Dave says, shivering, “maybe about our exact degree of gayness?”

“I guess that’s worth talking about,” Hal says, resting his head on Dave’s shoulder and just leaning into him. “I don’t really know anything about anything,” Hal goes on, “but I know I’m pretty goddamn gay for you, anyway.”

“That’s a start. I’m cool if you like girls, too, just...”

“You want to actually be boyfriends?”

“Yeah,” Dave says, trying not to tense up too much.

“I’m cool with that, I just… I just don’t want to tell _everybody_ , you know? It’s our business and people who make out in public are gross.”

“Sure,” Dave says, “but you better not swat me away if I try to hold your hand.”

“I’ll only do that if Dad’s around, and I’d do it to a girl, too. He’s such a jerk about PDA, you don’t even know.”

“Duly noted,” Dave says, and can’t help the huge grin spreading across his face. He tips Hal’s chin up and kisses him again, just enjoying the press of lips on lips. Hal sighs, melting into it. Dave hums with contentment. “Frank never kissed me,” he hears himself saying, and blushes at how stupid he sounds.

Hal makes an indignant little noise, and before Dave can apologize, Hal is mumbling, “That asshole has no idea what he’s missing,” into Dave’s mouth. Dave laughs, and Hal pulls away, wincing. “Sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have said that, but...”

“Nah, Frank is an asshole,” Dave says, still snickering, and Hal giggles.

“Good to know,” he says, and kisses the corner of Dave’s mouth. “Mm, I’ve wanted to kiss you since… well, maybe since we met,” he murmurs, and kisses him again, less off-center this time. Dave leans into it, and sighs when Hal starts to lick his way in. 

Dave can’t help a low, pleased noise in his chest, and it makes Hal shiver and whine, his hands clutching at the back of Dave’s shirt, first near the shoulders and then lower. He hesitates at the waist, and Dave reaches back with one hand, guiding Hal’s hand down to his ass. He’s pretty sure Hal wants to touch him there and is being shy, and if he doesn’t, he can always let go. Instead he whimpers, and brings his other hand down as well, gripping Dave with a shy greed that makes his heart melt even as he gets hard. Hal kneads and squeezes, and Dave presses into the touch, a little surprised at how much it’s affecting him.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he breathes, and Hal makes a strangled little noise and bites Dave’s neck. Hard and sharp and he holds on for a while, making Dave shudder and pant. “Oh...”

“You said you wanted some real bites this time,” Hal says, and his voice has gone all husky, in a way that will probably haunt Dave’s dreams.

“I do,” Dave whispers, and does his best not to make a complaining noise when Hal lets go of him. Hal takes his hand and gives Dave a shy smile.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Hal says, and all Dave can do is nod and follow him. 

There’s an awkward break where Hal sits Dave down on the bed and then tiptoes off to check on E.E., but it gives Dave time to catch his breath and get his shirt off. He feels weird, waiting, like he should find a good pose to be in and like that’s ridiculous. He settles for leaning back against the wall, and apparently that works for Hal, because after he shuts the door behind him, he rests his back against it and just stares. It would make Dave a lot more self-conscious if Hal wasn’t obviously hard.


	25. Chapter 25

Dave noticed last night that Hal is fucking hung, and now he winces in sympathy, because he must really be bound up in those jeans. He reaches down and adjusts himself without thinking about it, and Hal squeaks, tottering over to climb onto the bed and then run his tongue from Dave’s waistband up to his chest, with a look on his face like he can’t believe his own daring. It’s Dave’s turn to make a pathetic little high-pitched noise. Hal hesitates, glancing up at Dave, and Dave slides his fingers into Hal’s scruffy hair, stroking his ear with his thumb. Hal takes this for the encouragement that it is, and latches onto Dave’s nipple, eyes drifting shut behind his glasses as he makes a contented humming noise that seems to reverberate through Dave’s entire body.

It’s not as if Dave hasn’t figured out where he is and isn’t sensitive, but if kissing him was too gay for Frank, sucking on his nipples definitely would’ve been. Hal does it like he has never tasted anything better, his mouth so hot and wet and soft. Dave does his best not to make a sound, panting as he clutches at Hal’s hair. If there wasn’t a kid trying to sleep and not be traumatized by walking in on her big brother rounding second base, he would moan when Hal very, very carefully bites him. As it is he can’t help a strangled little whine, and Hal shudders all over, moving to the other side as he settles himself between Dave’s legs like he belongs there. It definitely feels like he does, and Dave’s thighs grip those bony hips and hold Hal close. He hides his face in Dave’s sternum for a moment, muffling his own breathless cursing. 

For a moment Dave is worried that Hal is getting emotional in some kind of bad way, and then one long-fingered hand is wrapping around his throat. That’s not exactly neighborly, but Hal doesn’t squeeze, just holds onto Dave and bites him again. Dave shudders and puts his hand over Hal’s. The second he does, he can feel Hal tense, drawing in on himself a little.

“I’m sorry, was that not okay?” he asks, and Dave can feel that he would pull way if he wasn’t holding him there. His eyes are wide behind smudged glasses, and Dave can see that he’s already starting to beat himself up, as if Dave couldn’t break free if he wanted to.

“I like it,” Dave murmurs, wanting to head off the wrong idea Hal is getting as quickly as possible, and Hal shudders and lets out a relieved little whimper. “Not sure what you’re doing,” Dave adds, “but I like it.”

“I just… I know we can’t make any noise because of E.E., so I wanted to feel all the noises you’re not making.”

“Fuck,” Dave whispers, and moans soundlessly when Hal drops his head to Dave’s chest again, all sharp teeth, soft lips, and agile tongue. 

Dave ends up carefully not-making a whole variety of noises, and he’s sort of irritated because he could be finding out what he sounds like with Hal’s mouth on him. Still, there’s something about the press of Hal’s palm on his throat that makes Dave not really able to mind anything. It’s not like he has never been choked, you can’t go against Eli and fight clean, but this gentle version is weirdly soothing.

It’s hard to be sure what Hal has even done before, but he certainly doesn’t complain when Dave grips his ass with both hands, and makes a sweet, shocked little noise when Dave pulls him in tight, grinding against him the way he used to do with Frank. This is way better because Hal is more than willing to kiss him as they rut against each other, getting more and more frantic as they find their rhythm. Dave bites Hal’s lower lip and he lets out a muffled yelp, whimpering quietly when Dave soothes it with his tongue.

For whatever reason, Dave catches himself murmuring encouragement to Hal, and he can only hope he doesn’t sound totally stupid. And that Hal has no objection to being called ‘baby,’ or to being told that he’s doing so good, so fucking good, that’s right. If he does, it’s not enough to keep him from coming with a whimper and a gasp and a convulsive shudder, biting onto Dave’s shoulder, teeth sharp and clean and _good_. Dave can’t help a very quiet groan, and Hal makes a high-pitched, pained noise as Dave keeps grinding on him where he must be getting oversensitive already, but he doesn’t pull away, and it’s only a few seconds before Dave is coming in the kind of taut, breathless silence that a person learns in a house full of their sharp-eared brothers and stealth operative parents. He clutches at Hal so hard he’s probably bruising him, and then relaxes under him, shivering a little.

Dave’s shivering is easing down as he realizes that Hal’s is ramping up, some other kind of tension spreading over his body. Fuck, did Dave hurt him somehow? Among the many lessons learned at his father’s scarred and bony knee is that panicking is always counterproductive, however justified it may be. So Dave takes a deep breath and tries to speak as evenly as possible.

“Hal?” He whispers, hugging him tightly even if that’s a bad idea if he’s too bruised and fucking hell Dave is going to goddamn kill himself if-- and then he feels a warm droplet on the side of his neck and hears a heartbreaking little hitch of breath and oh fucking Christ Hal is _crying_. “Hal?!” he keeps it quiet, no need to spread the misery around to poor little E.E., hopefully still asleep down the hall, but his voice cracks, wanting to scale up to a desperate squawk.

“I’m o-okay,” Hal whispers, clinging to him, still shaking. Dave can feel the hitching of his breath, hear the small, wet sound of it.

“Did I hurt you?” Dave asks, feeling like a coward for not wanting to hear the answer. The relief when Hal shakes his head is profound, even if Dave’s gut is still a knot of worry. “Then why--”

“I don’t know!” Hal whisper-yells against Dave’s neck, clinging to him like he’s afraid Dave is just going to throw him off of the bed and flee through the window.

It’s not as if the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, but of course he’s not going to do that. Instead he holds Hal tighter than ever, ignoring how cold and sticky things are getting and rubbing slow circles on his back. At least the tension in Hal’s muscles is easing, even if he is still crying. It’s quiet, at least, and easy, not the kind of hard, racking sobs Dave is stuck with whenever he cries. He finds himself making soft, hushing noises, like Hal is a scared animal or something, but at least they seem to be helping.


	26. Interlude: George

Coming out of a Junior Toastmasters meeting at ten a.m. on a Saturday, George is well-satisfied with life. Some connections made, some public speaking experience gained, and the whole day ahead of him. He’s just pulling out his bus schedule (Ocelot would pick him up if he asked, but George doesn’t want to bother him if he doesn’t have to) when Mr. Stillman comes up to ask if he’s still interested in volunteering with the Boys And Girls Club. Apparently they could use a responsible teen to make sure sure that a handful of eighth-graders calling themselves Dead Cell aren’t actually a gang.

“There’s also a younger kid,” Mr. Stillman says, “kind of a tagalong. I know it’s asking a lot, but I don’t have as much time as I did, and I think you’d be good with them.”

Dave and Eli may think that George cares less about what people think than they do, but just because George can rest serene in the knowledge that being a clone isn’t his fault any more than any anti-social thing Eli does, it doesn’t mean that he isn’t pleased to be considered responsible. Besides, this will look good on college applications. Luckily, the place is on the bus route, and George spends the ride on his phone, examining the various programs available. 

Dead Cell and their little friend are considered at-risk, and as such are heavily involved in academic enrichment and art programs, since the idea is to set them up for success and to give them a healthy outlet. The broad age range on both of those things also keeps the ten-year-old from feeling left out. It seems like a sound plan, and while George isn’t much good at art, he is _excellent_ at academics. Eli can only be bothered to care about English, Dave runs a B average, but George is playing the long game, and has been on the Honor Roll for most of his scholastic career.

Once George has some idea what he’s going to be doing, he risks a call home. There’s a high probability that Dad and Ocelot are heavily Involved, but he knows they both hate not knowing where any of their boys are. Ocelot answers Dad’s phone, but at least he doesn’t sound suspiciously breathless.

“It sounds like a worthy use of your time, kiddo,” Ocelot drawls, once George has explained the situation. “When should we expect you back?”

“Probably three o’clock at the latest. I should be able to take the bus, but--”

“I will be delighted to come get you,” Ocelot says, and then calls, “Jack, come here and be briefed on George’s movements!”

A moment later Dad is there, and George can explain the whole thing again. Of course Dad just wants to know how it goes, and vouches for Mom approving of this use of his time, which is nice of him. Dave may be the real mama’s boy of the family, but of course her opinion matters to George. Hell, it matters to Eli, no matter what he might say.

By the time George has everything straightened out, he’s near his destination, and he tucks his phone away, smoothing the lines of his blazer and taking a deep breath. As with most things of the kind, this meeting of Project Learn is happening in a run-down rec center, the other major option besides a church basement. George goes in and explains himself to the receptionist, who checks his student ID and has him sign in.

“They’re not bad kids,” she says when she hears who he has been tapped to work with, “but they can be difficult.”

George smiles. “So can I, sometimes. I’m sure we’ll get along.”

The receptionist smiles, and gives him a manila folder with everyone’s names and a quick summary of what they’re working on. George’s new charges are in a conference room off to one side, and he takes a moment to examine it, making sure he has some idea of who’s who and what they’re all working on. That done he pauses just outside the door to collect himself before opening it with confidence. A paper plane comes straight for his face, but he catches it easily, and then smiles down at a skinny little towhead in leg braces, who gives him a defiant glare.

“Good morning,” George says, and takes a moment to examine the plane. It really is well made, with a nice attention to proper folding techniques. “You must be Johnny,” he adds, and the kid nods, big blue eyes heartbreakingly suspicious for someone so young. He seems very surprised to have his plane returned with no further comment. 

Looking past him, George takes stock of the rest of Dead Cell: a very pretty girl sitting on the windowsill, her blonde hair making her rich brown skin all the more striking, a skinny, pale boy in a trenchcoat sitting close beside her and hiding behind his own dark, shoulder-length hair, and a chubby kid in a sweatshirt so massive it makes George think of bomb defusal armor. He’s sitting at the table, with the slightly prim aura of someone doing what he’s supposed to in the face of anarchy.

“And good morning to you, too,” George says. “I’m George Plisken.”

“You the new tutor?” the girl asks. She seems morose, but willing to go along to get along, and she slides down from the window, her companion doing the same.

“I am,” George says, and she comes and shakes his hand, her grip firm.

“Fortune Dolph,” she says, and the boy offers his hand next, almost more as moral support for Fortune than a gesture on his own account.

“Grigori Lemarr,” he says, a soft, probably Romanian accent touching his words, “but I prefer Vamp.” He gives George a look like he’s expecting him to object, but George just nods. Dad’s the one with a totally irrational fear of vampires, not him, so this should be fine.

“Pleased to meet you both,” he says, and then looks over to the last kid, who sighs and stands up.

“If we’re doing this,” he says, “then I prefer to be called Fatman. Like the bomb.”

“And I prefer to call you whatever you prefer,” George says, unable to help a smile. Definitely a better choice than Little Boy. Up close Fatman’s nails gleam with what might actually be clear polish, and he smells like one of the half-dozen types of perfume Mom uses for different occasions. Shalimar, maybe.

“Then I’m Raiden,” Johnny says, with a defiant glare. George likes the kid already.

"Like the Mortal Kombat character,” he asks, “or like the Imperial Japanese Navy's Mitsubishi J2M Raiden?"

Raiden’s eyes light up, and he turns out to know a lot about WWII aircraft for a kid his age.


	27. Chapter 27

It seems kind of sick, but Dave enjoys holding Hal while he cries. He’s not happy about the crying, even if it is apparently just excess emotion, not necessarily bad, but he’s glad to be here for Hal, to cuddle him close and pet his hair and murmur that it’s okay, it’s okay, Dave’s not letting him go. That really does seem to be the only thing Hal is worried about, and he relaxes into Dave’s steady grip. Dave rubs his back and murmurs that it’s okay another few million times, and at last Hal giggles, pulling away just enough to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Sorry about that,” he says, giving Dave a watery but beautiful smile. 

Dave smiles back, brushing Hal’s hair out of his face. “You okay?” he asks, and Hal nods.

“Yeah, I just… I don’t even know what that was. Thanks for being cool about it.”

“Can’t say it wasn’t weird,” Dave says, “but I like holding you.”

Hal blushes bright pink, but lets Dave kiss some of the salt off of his face before he gets up in search of new pants. Dave just eases out of the ones he’s wearing and crams his boxers into an outer pocket of his backpack, carefully balled up around the ick. He can feel Hal watching him as he wriggles his way back into his jeans, and he grins at him, making him blush again and mutter about checking on E.E.

“I’ll be here,” Dave says, and starts looking for his shirt. Somehow it ended up under the bed, and he’s just crawling backwards with it when the door opens and Hal makes a tiny noise in his throat. Dave looks back at him in concern, and then sees that he’s blushing again and realizes that things are probably fine. “Kid all right?” he asks, pulling his shirt back on.

“Uh, yeah,” Hal squeaks. “We’ve got another twenty minutes or so, but we should probably behave ourselves.”

“Too bad,” Dave says, but it’s true. Hal isn’t even quite back to baseline now, they have to be less obvious when his parents show up.

It turns out that they only have fifteen minutes, and are very well served by sublimating as much as they can into several rounds of various sickeningly wholesome Wii games that technically belong to E.E. Still, when Hal’s parents come in, Dave can see Julie noticing that Hal has changed pants, and the look she gives him makes him wonder if she watches Hal the way she does because she doesn’t want him to turn out queer. Probably too late for that, and every place Hal’s mouth has touched tingles at the thought.

Julie goes to pour herself and Dr. Emmerich a drink, while he just sits there and bitches about everyone else at the gala. Jesus, the guy’s a whiner. And then he’s got to come over and start fucking backseat driving, because god forbid they pretend bowl without his expert advice. It’s a relief when Julie shows up with scotch on the rocks and tells him to leave the boys alone.

“They did a good job cleaning up after they let E.E. make some kind of mess,” she adds, so much warmer now that Dave has no idea what to think.

Hal chuckles. “Cupcakes, and I know you’ll eat some.”

“Sabotaging my diet, Hal?” she teases, her hand resting on Dr. Emmerich’s shoulder.

“Maybe a little?” he says, making an imaginary strike. “You don’t need to be on one anyway,” he adds, and she laughs.

“You always know exactly what to say,” she coos, and Hal blushes and fidgets with his controller and the whole thing is just goddamn _weird._

When it’s time for Dave to leave, he and Hal can’t exactly linger over a tender farewell under the porch light, but Dave does need to go back up to Hal’s room to get his backpack, and he takes advantage of the moment to kiss Hal until he’s flushed and dazed. Dave is about to pull away when Hal pulls the collar of Dave’s shirt down and to the side, biting his shoulder and holding on hard enough to leave a livid mark as Dave whimpers.

“Fffuck, Hal,” he breathes, and Hal shivers, kissing him softly on the mouth.

“You said you wanted more marks,” he says, and he looks so shy and adorable that Dave wants to grab him and grind on him until he comes again. But of course there’s no time for that, and instead they walk down to the door like completely normal friends who don’t cover each other in hickeys.

Dave runs most of the way home and climbs several trees just to do it, they’re not even part of his shortcut. Dad and Ocelot are sitting in the kitchen with warming drinks as if that’s the kind of thing they ever do, and Dave tries to remember anything he may have done lately until he realizes that they’re talking about George.

“Jack,” Ocelot is saying, his hand looking very bony and slender where it’s resting on Dad’s, “you of all people know that one cannot simply ignore a child’s aptitudes.”

“I know, I know, but it’s some kinda _management_ , and you know how I feel about doing that sort of thing when you don’t absolutely have to. He wears blazers, Ocelot. Because he _wants_ to.”

“What he’s doing now is a public service and a healthy outlet. I could have used that at his age,” Ocelot says. “Hot chocolate, Dave?” he adds, not looking around.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Dave says, taking a seat at the table, backpack on the floor by his chair. “Is this about George being the weird kid whisperer?”

“I’ve just been telling your father that it’s an excellent use of his talents,” Ocelot says, pouring Dave a mug of their mother’s hot chocolate, based on ganache and with a few spices added for dimension. “And we all know what happened when your grandmother tried to keep me out of the family business,” he says, setting it down in front of Dave.

“You ran away to do it anyway and met Dad?”

“Exactly, and I can’t imagine how boring life would be without him.” He kisses Dad’s cheek, but it’s not too bad. Dave really does always feel more happy for them than disgusted, unless they’re being _really_ gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't goddamn believe I haven't gotten us to Halloween yet. I regret everything.


	28. Interlude: Hal II

The last half of October is beautiful and golden, and Hal would probably remember it that way even if it wasn’t. As long as he and Dave stay ahead of their homework they can hang out as much as they like, and there’s no house rule against closing and locking Dave’s door. It’s some kind of bizarre, constant miracle that Dave is just as eager to touch Hal as Hal is to touch him, those big hands all over him like there’s something really incredible about his pasty skin, toast rack of a chest, and bony shoulders.

Hal doesn’t want to ditch E.E. too much, but he does spend a lot of time at Dave’s house anyway, guilt slightly salved by Julie starting E.E. on ballet, so the kid isn’t even around for three afternoons a week. It’s weird at the Plisken house, but in a really good way, even if he and Dave did walk into what turned out to be a _friendly_ fistfight between Dave’s dad and a guy who had introduced himself as Goblin Worm, like that’s a normal thing to be called. Still, Goblin Worm had turned out to be an excellent darts player, and he had given Hal a few tips that have at least made him more likely to hit the board than the wall. 

Dave’s dad, Ocelot, and George are all very nice to Hal, and even Eli manages polite inattention. Hal isn’t that scared of Eli, really. He’s outnumbered, and mostly just makes himself scarce or sulks on the edge of the circle when there’s food to be had. Ocelot feeds him with the gentle tolerance some people extend to semi-feral cats.

Still, there’s one more member of the immediate family to worry about, and that’s why Hal is sitting here on Dave’s bed, nervously nattering away about getting his robot to walk instead of covering Dave in kisses or sucking his nipples. Hal is never going to get over how much Dave likes that, how he gets all melty and starts making little noises on each breath. He lets Hal pin him down, too, like all that strength is no match for Hal’s spindly arms, and everything they _could_ be doing is part of why Hal can’t shut up while they wait for a scheduled Skype call from Dave’s mother. The rest is a mixture of the nerves he feels meeting anyone for the first time, intensified by how important this one is, and how hard it is always is to see people with their mothers. He’s used to working around it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And then he has to feel like an asshole about that, and it’s bad any time but this is Dave and Hal has spent the day since lunch break telling himself not to freak out.

The way Dave’s whole face brightens up when the call comes in is adorable, and Hal rides out that predictable little stab of envy/guilt/sadness that always comes at times like this. Somehow it isn’t a surprise that Dave’s mom is a gorgeous blonde with a phenomenal rack. She beams at the sight of her son, and then turns that smile on Hal, asking Dave who his friend is. 

“This is Hal, Mom,” Dave says while Hal is trying to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “He’s over here helping me with math.”

Hal has actually given Dave some math help in between all the making out. In turn, Dave is really useful for American History, with all kinds of dates and fun facts about ordinance for almost every era. Now he tells Dave’s mom that, feeling like an idiot because he can hear that nervous babbling note in his own voice, and she just smiles at him, telling him that she’s glad they have such a nice exchange set up before starting in on Dave with the Mom Questions. Hal’s mom has been out for more than half his life, and was apparently considered sort of cool and offhand, but Hal remembers Mom Questions, all about your food and clothing and personal responsibility and how messy your room is. Well, in this case Dave’s mom isn’t dismayed by nearly nonexistent filth, but by Dave’s utter lack of decorative touches.

“You’ve been there almost two months, Dave! My god, you could at least move some of the pin-ups in here if you can’t find your own wall art. Maybe the redhead who used to be on the pantry door?” Hal can’t help laughing, but she doesn’t seem mad about it.

After she ends the call, telling Hal that it was nice to meet him and Dave that she loves him very much and to be sure and dress warm, Hal bursts out laughing.

Dave just rolls his eyes, slightly pink. “She worries about us, and knows that Dad thinks punching a blizzard while shirtless is fine exercise for growing boys.”

“You know,” Hal says, still giggling, “I can’t even tell if you’re joking?”

“Sometimes I can’t either,” Dave says, and grins at him. “I’m just glad you don’t mind the whole fucked up menagerie, man.”

“I think it’s cool that your dad has real work buddies,” Hal says, because it is. His dad doesn’t really have work friends, just people from work who are willing to put up with him sometimes.

“Well, I meant the immediate family more than them, but yeah, that too.”

“Goblin Worm and Smoking Mustang are both very nice people, Dave,” Hal says, and Dave grins and kisses him for no real reason at all, kneeling on the floor and stretching to be even with Hal, where he’s still sitting on the bed.

Hal really does think it’s nice that Dave’s dad has a bunch of animal-codenamed weirdos who seem to pretty much consider him family. Most of them address him as Boss or sir, but they call him up to tell him about their niece’s dance recital or how their gardens are getting on, send pictures to prove it, and sit around the kitchen table at their ease. Mr. Plisken always seems genuinely pleased to see them, and the vibe is a very cozy one, even if the love is sometimes expressed through CQC and arguments in Russian. It has been kind of weird to be somewhere so physical, and it felt like maybe being accepted into a hyena pack when Mustang had insisted on showing Hal how to make a fist properly, and minimize the risk of breaking his thumb.

“Seriously, baby Boss,” she had said to Dave, “you haven’t shown him this?”

“I’ve been trying to pass Alg II, Mustang,” he had said, hunching his shoulders the way he does when he’s irritated and embarrassed at the same time, “cut me some slack.”

Now Dave sighs and gazes at Hal in that rapt way that always makes him want to squirm, sure he can’t be worth looking at like _that_. “I just… most people aren’t so good about the weirdness. I really like that about you.”

Hal’s only answer to that is to kiss Dave again, and he purrs and wraps those strong arms around Hal, a warm weight between Hal’s knees. When Dave pulls back at last, Hal strokes his hair and gazes down into those bright blue eyes, wishing he had the right words for how beautiful Dave really is.


	29. Interlude: Hal III

Even though Hal hasn’t been spending as much time with E.E. as he should when the kid has no friends of her own, taking her trick-or-treating is a sacred trust, and he’s glad that Dave understands. Hell, he doesn’t even mind Hal filling his room with cardboard as he works on key portions of E.E.’s robot costume. They’re going to match, which is even dorkier than his primary Halloween engagement being to chaperone a six-year-old, but Dave says that it’s sweet and actually seems to mean that. He also seems impressed with the light-up eyes, even though they’re really pretty easy to make.

“So are you one of those Halloween people?” Dave asks, holding cardboard together for Hal to hot glue it.

“Are you not?” he asks, carefully trailing little beads of glue down the seam. “How often do you get the chance to be anything you want? Okay, press.” Dave presses the seam together while Hal uses a scrap of cardboard to smooth out the droplets that get squished to the surface.

“I guess we’re more of a Christmas household,” Dave says, sounding thoughtful. “I mean, we do Halloween, but Dad loves Christmas so fucking much it’s embarrassing to watch, sometimes.”

“Really?”

“He believes in Santa Claus like other people believe in God, dude.”

Hal laughs, and then both of them look up at the sound of the doorbell. The whole Plisken family is home, except for Dave’s mother, who isn’t supposed to be back until December, so this is probably Ochre Hippo or something. Apparently all the weird animal codenames were literally written on slips of paper and drawn when needed, and Hal finds something sort of charming in that, although he does wonder why even back then nobody wrote the Diamond Dogs a proper randomizing program. Since their own project needs to dry and Eli is sulking, George is up to his elbows in homework, and Mr. Plisken and Ocelot are out back with the dogs, they go down to answer the door.

“It’s probably Sly Tiger,” Dave says, “he and Ocelot had some kind of bet and now Tiger owes him a pair of boots.”

“Cowboy boots?” Hal asks, grinning, and Dave laughs.

“You say that like there are any other kind,” he says, checking the peephole and suddenly going all pink and awkward.

“Dave?”

“Nothing, it’s just Mr. Miller,” he squeaks, and opens the door.

Hal has been very curious about Dave’s survival trainer, and not just because he probably has a lot of good stories. Hal isn’t the best at this stuff, but it sure seems like Dave has a crush on the guy, and there’s research to do here. He’s trying not to get insecure, but after Facebook stalking Frank Jaeger a little and making the unsurprising discovery that he’s a beautiful mauler like Dave, Hal is really, really hoping that Mr. Miller is one of those unassuming, wiry types.

The man standing on the step is not the unassuming, wiry type. He’s pretty much shaped like Mr. Plisken, tall and imposing, with shoulders for days. The giant aviators and the long blonde ponytail are really closer to animal-codename normal than the sharp suit, or the blonde kid next to him who must be his daughter. She’s dressed in sunny yellow and holding an enormous casserole dish, beaming at Hal.

“Hi!” she chirps. “I’m Catherine, you must be Hal!” She’s about E.E.’s age, but awfully poised. Julie has coached E.E. a little, and of course not embarrassing Dad is supposed to be one of their primary missions in life, but still, there’s something weirdly buoyant and self-possessed about her.

“Uh, yeah,” Hal says. “I mean, I am, hi!” There’s no point in getting jealous or weird in any way, no matter how tongue-tied or useless Dave gets. He takes Catherine’s tiny hand when she offers it for a serious, businesslike handshake, while Mr. Miller greets Dave in Japanese. Hal has seen enough anime to follow that, before Mr. Miller goes on to a couple of questions that Hal can’t parse. Whatever he’s asking, Dave answers, blushing and awkward. Hal knew it, he fucking knew Dave spoke Japanese along with the Russian. “I hate to be rude,” Mr. Miller says to Hal, ushering Catherine inside, “but I have to make sure the boys are staying fluent.” 

“That’s okay,” Hal says, as Dave takes the casserole from Catherine so she can slip out of her shoes while her father does the same and Hal does not want to be That Guy but holy shit Mr. Miller’s right hand is a work of art. It’s so beautiful that Hal barely notices the nail polish lovingly applied where the nails would be, dark blue with little gold star stickers, matching the flesh hand. By the time he’s reminding himself not to stare, it’s too late.

Mr. Miller’s smile goes a little flat, but stays on as he flexes the silver fingers. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Hal’s really into robotics,” Dave says, and Hal is so grateful for him throwing himself into the breach like this that for one tiny moment he feels like crying.

“Sorry, I just haven’t seen any of the T-7 series in real life, and you’d be the one to know it’s the best knuckle assembly on the market,” Hal says, and Mr. Miller laughs. It’s hard to be sure with the sunglasses, but it seems a little more genuine, now.

“Maybe I’ll let you look at it while we catch up with Jack and Ocelot,” Mr. Miller says, and pads straight through the house to open the back door and holler for Mr. Plisken and Ocelot to come in. Dave leads the way to the kitchen, starting the oven and putting the casserole in it as Catherine tells him all about helping to make it. She’s so proud of being able to carry the dish that it’s adorable.

“Daddy says you should always return a dish with something in it,” she says, rocking from heel to toe like she has too much energy for her tiny frame to contain, watching Dave put the oven mitts away. “Mama was gonna bring it tomorrow, but Daddy got done with work early and felt like driving and of course I wanted to come, too. I miss my cousins.”

“You miss Snake, you mean,” Dave says, shutting the oven door, and the dogs come bounding in, all five of them grinning and wagging to see Catherine, even Lefty. She giggles and pets all of them in the careful, respectful manner of a child whose parents have taught them to play nice with animals, and they bask in the attention. Hal has to wonder what Mama is like, when Daddy is some kind of hot cyborg, who apparently wears three-piece suits when he isn’t teaching baby supersoldiers how to fish with their bare hands.

“The dogs are my cousins too,” Catherine coos, and Hal chuckles, petting them when they come to him, all of them nosing at him in a friendly way except for Lefty, who gives him a haughty look and goes over to lurk near Dave. Hal guesses that dogs really do take after their people.

“Better-behaved than your human ones, for sure,” Dave says, setting salt and pepper shakers on the table. The butter dish is at Hal’s elbow, and he hands it over when Dave gestures for it. 

“I know,” Catherine says. “I forgive you. Let me get the forks!” She bounds toward a certain drawer and then pauses, looking at Dave. He grins at her.

“Yes, princess, they’re still to the right of the sink,” Dave says, and Catherine collects two little fistfuls of silverware, scampering over to set the table.


	30. Interlude: Kaz

If only Snake and his Snakelets didn’t live by the old maxim about a soldier taking a meal wherever he finds one, Kaz wouldn’t have to share a table with what assuredly must be an Emmerich. As it is, he’s going to have to accept their hospitality or be an asshole and drag Catherine away. And he knows he’s right. Nobody looks that much like a stranger, the little bastard has to at _least_ be a nephew. Worse, if Dave’s “friend” Hal isn’t his boyfriend, Kaz will eat his own kidneys. If the kid is a little shit like his probable father, Kaz will eat _his_ kidneys. Ocelot must know, but Kaz has to wonder if Jack’s selective stupidity is in place on the subject of Dave and Hal and their obvious gay. 

He leans out the back door and yells for Jack and Ocelot. The dogs come much faster, of course, and Kaz laughs as they frisk around him for a moment before charging toward the kitchen. He leans on the doorjamb and waits for Jack and Ocelot to mosey their geriatric way over. Much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, Ocelot is keeping pretty damn well, considering that he should look like the portrait of Dorian Grey. Jack, of course, always looks great. He’s the first non-canine to reach the porch, and pulls Kaz into a tight hug, kissing his cheek.

“Jumped the gun on V, huh?” Jack asks, keeping one arm loosely around Kaz’s shoulders.

Kaz leans into him a little. “The kid wanted to do it today, and I was willing to drive. He sends his love, but I don’t need to tell you that.” By now Ocelot is with them, and Kaz accepts a hug and a kiss from the old bastard. “What is this shit again,” he murmurs at the scent of Ocelot’s cologne, “Sex Panther?”

“I just call it classical conditioning,” Ocelot says, and Kaz grimaces, shoving him away.

“You disgust me.”

“Can’t help but notice that it’s not enough to keep you from sleeping with me, darlin’.”

“You’re the one who says I’m easy.”

“Girls,” Jack says, a hand on one of each of their shoulders, “girls, you’re both pretty! And you _are_ easy, Kaz, it’s part of your charm.”

“Did you just goddamn neg me?” Kaz asks, and Ocelot bursts out laughing. 

Ocelot is still chuckling as they make their way inside, but then Catherine is running to him to show him her new dress, and bless his black and twisted heart, he always takes what she has to say seriously. He’s also duly impressed with the pockets V added, as well he should be, they were tricky. Inside the pockets are a few crayons, a small rubber cat, some pretty rocks, and a butterscotch disk that she has been saving for Ocelot, because he actually likes the fucking things. Kaz has to assume it’s some kind of elemental attraction of awful to awful.

Dave has vanished, presumably going to let his brothers know that they’ll be expected in about fifteen minutes. Kaz, Quiet, and V have an agreement to never bring anything that isn’t at least mostly cooked already, on the grounds that Jack is the kind of guy to just keep eating his microwave burrito when it turns out to be cold in the middle.

The baby Emmerich is watching Catherine and Ocelot, but he must feel Kaz’s gaze, because he glances over, big eyes shy behind his glasses. It’s weird, Strangelove was never a shrinking violet, but something about the expression makes the kid look even more like the logical result of her crossbreeding with that little shit. Kaz never did understand that part. A lesbian calling dick o’clock in the pursuit of motherhood Kaz can grasp, but how anyone can just hold their nose and fuck Emmerich, he has never understood. 

The kid’s gaze flicks to Kaz’s hand again, like he can’t even help it, and then back to his face, too desperately apologetic for Kaz to muster any real irritation. He shrugs out of his jacket, and rolls up his sleeve. The look on the kid’s face now is all Strangelove, a gleam of avid fascination.

“Yeah,” Kaz tells him, holding out his silver hand, “it goes all the way up.”

“Oh, wow,” Hal says, coming closer to examine it, and then, “Your nail polish is really cool, did Catherine do it?”

Kaz laughs. “She did,” he says. 

Hal grins up at him before turning his attention to that knuckle assembly he likes so much, fingertips twitching a little as he struggles to be polite.

“I, uh… may I touch?”

“Sure, kid,” Kaz tells him, and watches that intent little face for signs of Emmerich prickery.

Kaz has had a lot of people stare at his limbs, even after the tech got more affordable, and he has had a lot of doctors and engineers poke at him and shake their heads over how long he goes between calibrations, but this kid’s regard is so achingly pure that he can hardly stand it. He carefully flexes each finger and examines Kaz’s palm like he’s going to tell his fortune before moving up to his wrist and then his elbow, hands deft and gentle. His skin is warm and just a little humid, not actually dry, but not all sweaty the way people can be. That’s nice, too much water makes the weird, buzzing quality of the nerve signals much more obvious. Kaz leans his hip against the counter and lets Hal examine the hand to his heart’s content.

“My left foot is the same way,” Kaz tells him after a while, “to about halfway up the shin.”

“Wow,” Hal says, and then, “You were an early adopter, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Kaz says, studying him. “How do you figure?”

“The wear patterns,” Hal tells him, and damned if the kid doesn’t know a _lot_ about robotic joints. 

Looking down at that head of silvery hair, studiously bent over a metal limb, Kaz just has to ask, “How is your mother these days?” Even as he says it he catches a desperate high-sign from Ocelot, and he’s cursing himself almost before the kid’s face falls. Worse than the way his expression crumples is the brave and resolute way he tries to bring himself back to normal.

“I guess you didn’t hear about her accident,” Hal says, and Kaz grimaces.

“I never knew her all that well--”

“She’s alive,” Hal says, more firmly than Kaz has heard the kid say anything up to now, and Kaz nods, not wanting to make him feel any worse. “Just because she’s been in a minimally conscious state for a long time doesn’t mean she’s gone.”

“No,” Kaz says, putting his flesh hand over Hal’s, “it doesn’t. Please, forgive me for prying.”

“You weren’t prying, Mr. Miller,” Hal says, with this sad, sweet way that makes Kaz want to stab himself, “you were just asking after an old acquaintance. I… I’m glad meeting me made you think of her.”

“Okay,” Kaz says, and then, in sheer desperation, “You said you had never seen any of the T7 series in real life.”

“And I haven’t, this is great,” Hal assures him.

“My foot is actually an experimental model, sort of between six and seven, so I thought you might--”

“Omigod can I see it?” Hal squeaks, eyes shining, and of course he can. He drops right to his knobby knees to help Kaz balance and get his sock off. 

Kaz leans on the counter and catches Ocelot’s eye over the kid’s head, where they have their usual silent exchange about how Ocelot should have briefed Kaz and that it isn’t Ocelot’s fault that Kaz is an intel disaster.


	31. Chapter 31

Coming back to the kitchen to find Hal kneeling at Mr. Miller’s feet is like the beginning of some kind of wet nightmare, and Dave can’t help the way his stomach lurches even as he tells himself not to be an asshole. Hal is running gentle fingertips up Mr. Miller’s metal ankle and saying something about how elegant the construction is and Dave’s skin feels too small for him. Because he is not Eli, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to be calm. Mr. Miller smiles at him and waves him over, and the honest friendliness in the expression helps.

“You can’t find schematics of this foot online unless you really know where to look,” Mr. Miller says, with a fond smile down at Hal that isn’t any kind of sex thing and Dave should stop being dumb.

“It’s a T7 prototype,” Hal chirps, and Dave has to smile.

“A prototype, huh?” Dave feels a demented urge to join Hal on the floor and isn’t that something he doesn’t need to be thinking about right now. He settles for checking on the casserole even though it can’t be done yet.

“They wanted me to upgrade, but it works for my purposes,” Mr. Miller says. “I bothered with the arm because it actually made a difference in my ability to play guitar.”

“He’s pretty good,” Dad adds, looking up from Catherine’s collection of things. The kid always has something in her pockets, and she’s getting old enough that it’s no longer completely random, just mostly. Apparently the tiny rubber cat is for Ocelot, who gravely trades Catherine one of those weird little tea figurines for it. It might be the bushbaby one, it’s hard to see.

“It’d be cool to play an instrument,” Hal says. “The best I can do is mess around with midi files and voice banks.”

Mr. Miller turns out to know something about this, and Dave is actually grateful when Eli comes wandering in, giving him somewhere else to turn his attention for a moment. Catherine runs over to Eli, hands extended. Because Eli is an asshole, he had issued a ban on hugging as too babyish, but because he’s not an irredeemable asshole, he goes along with the complex high-five sequence that Catherine has invented as a replacement. It probably helps that Mr. Miller will fucking destroy anyone who upsets Catherine without cause, giving Eli a convenient excuse for his willingness to listen to her chatter.

Since they don’t talk much at the table as a general rule, there’s no reason not to let Catherine have most of the extra space, while Mr. Miller asks George and Eli how they like it here (‘very much, sir,’ and ‘it bloooows’ respectively.) Catherine is of course happy to tell Hal all about the entire weird menagerie she lives with. It’s a little more literal with Dr. Vic’s household.

“--but we like the goats too much to eat them,” Catherine says, somehow managing to eat in the tiny pauses of her monologue, “so we mostly just drink the milk. I can have it raw because Mama is special and I was born with some, but most kids probably shouldn’t. I mean, we’re mostly sure the goats aren’t sick, but sometimes they have germs without being sick, it’s weird.”

Dave is so used to Mr. Miller, Dr. Vic, and Ms. Quiet working the way they do that he forgets about it as a thing to be disclosed. To Hal’s credit, when Catherine mentions Papa as a distinct entity from Daddy, he seems confused but also willing to reserve his questions for later. It’s hard to tell under the shades, but Dave is pretty sure that Mr. Miller is looking over at him. He wishes he had a way to signal that yes, Hal does know about Ocelot’s real place in the family.

After everything is eaten and all guests are seen off, Hal is quiet. It seems more thoughtful than unhappy, but Dave can’t help being a little nervous. They’re in Dave’s room again, and Hal is very intent on his robot pieces when he speaks at last. “Did you know that Mr. Miller knew my mother?”

Dave blinks. “He did?” Maybe the past tense isn’t tactful, but Hal did it first.

“Yeah,” Hal says. “Not very well. Hadn’t even heard about the accident, but…” He shrugs his bony little shoulders. “I guess it was kind of nice, to have someone ask about her.”

Dave isn’t very good at this kind of stuff, and he’s glad that he and Hal have a reached a point where just wrapping around him from behind and holding him tightly is an option. He’s careful of the glue gun, and Hal sets it down so he can turn in Dave’s arms, climbing into his lap, where he pulls off his glasses and tucks his face into the crook of Dave’s neck. He sighs quietly, and holds on to Dave, gripping two fistfuls of his shirt.

“Dad never talks about her,” Hal says quietly, and he sounds so sad and so angry and so fucking helpless that it makes Dave want to punch something. “It’s not even like she’s dead, it’s like he never knew her in the first place. I fucking take cabs to visit her.”

“What the hell, man?” Dave growls. So what if Hal’s mom is gay and she and Dr. Emmerich were never in love or anything, Dad goes to visit any Diamond Dog that ends up hospitalized for anything serious, right down to guys like Crystal Wallaby, who just send the occasional Christmas card.

“Sometimes I think he blames her, or something?” Hal says, his voice cracking and trying to squeak. “Like it was her idea to get fucked up by malfunctioning safety equipment, and now he’s stuck with me.”

Dave hugs him more tightly, clutching Hal to his chest because he can’t fucking stand this. Of course Hal just gets more emotional and turns so he’s pretty much straddling Dave, his face buried in Dave’s shoulder as he tries to get his shit together. All Dave can think to do is rub his back, make soothing noises, and try not to get a boner from the contact.


	32. Chapter 32

Dave knows that Hal is in the grip of a lot of feelings, and he truly appreciates the effort involved in Hal pulling himself together to come out with Dave when it’s time to bid Mr. Miller and Catherine a fond farewell. Dave likes to spend more time with Mr. Miller when he’s around, but he can tell that Hal is just barely up to giving them both a friendly wave and saying it was nice to meet them before he flees back upstairs. Mr. Miller watches him go, frowning behind his shades.

“I hope the kid isn’t too upset,” he says, and Dave sighs.

“He’s not upset that you asked about his mom, Mr. Miller, he’s upset that nobody else does, and that’s not your fault.”

“I guess not.” His mouth twitches into this little grimace of self-reproach that Dave always wants to smooth away, and then relaxes again. “Well. If he asks, tell him I always liked her, because I did. You ready, Cathy?” he asks, turning to where Catherine is finishing a complicated secret handshake with Ocelot.

“Now I am,” she says, and scampers over to him, taking his metal hand in her tiny one. Sometimes when he watches them together now, Dave remembers how nervous Mr. Miller was when Ms. Quiet was pregnant. Even worrying about Hal, he has to smile.

When Dave gets back to his room, he’s not surprised to find Hal working on the robots again, with a brooding intensity that Dave doesn’t like, but understands. He doesn’t bother trying to talk to Hal, just puts on some music and does homework for a while, stretched on his belly on the floor next to Hal’s work area.

“Hey, Dave?” Hal says at long last.

“Yeah?” Dave looks up from a history worksheet he could probably do in his sleep.

“Thanks,” Hal says, and he sounds like he’s about to get weepy again, that tight, almost-cracking quality in his voice.

Dave sighs, and crawls over to him. “Hal, baby...”

“Is it cool that I really like it when you call me that?” Hal asks, barely audible, and Dave hugs him.

“Cool with me,” he says, and kisses Hal’s cheek. 

Hal sighs and relaxes a little in his arms, and then turns to straddle his lap again. This time he kisses Dave, though, so Dave doesn’t let himself worry too much about trying to be soothing instead of horny. He just kisses back, and shivers as Hal bites his lip. When Hal gently pushes at his shoulders, Dave lets himself lie back. Every time there’s this weird relief to it that Dave doesn’t really have any words for. It just feels right to let Hal move him and direct him like this, and he whimpers when Hal bites his neck. Maybe it’s a little fucked to be doing this right now, but what the hell.

Somehow Dave isn’t actually surprised to get blue-balled. It’s kind of a relief that Hal just chews on him for a bit and then dissolves into sniffling apologies without actually letting him up. Dave doesn’t mind. “Hey,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around Hal, “it’s okay.”

It’s kind of heartbreaking, how Hal keeps thanking Dave for not minding. Even if Dave hadn’t been given the Diamond Dogs induction lecture on consent, how it can be withdrawn at any time, and how ignoring that kind of thing is a good way to be thrown to the sharks, he wouldn’t have the heart to push it.

By the time Hal is truly calm, he really should be getting home. With some helpful stacking he can carry all the robot pieces himself, and Dave walks him out, to be sure the configuration is stable. And to pretend it isn’t, so he can duck in and kiss Hal goodbye under cover of adjusting a box. Hal giggles, nipping at Dave’s neck when he pulls away, holding on for a brief, sharp moment that actually does make Dave’s knees go weak. It’s nice to see him scamper off into the night with his project, even if Dave does have the urge to follow him to be sure he gets home all right

When Dave turns back toward the house, he can see both of his brothers lurking on the porch, and flips them off. Eli returns it with both hands, while George just grins and waves. At least it’s Dave’s turn to help Ocelot with dinner, so he has something to do. The casserole was a couple of hours ago by now, and that was just a sop to the wolves, anyway.

For a while Ocelot peels potatoes in silence, making that perfect single ribbon of skin while Dave hacks broccoli into manageable chunks. It’s always kind of restful, sharing a kitchen with any of his parents, and he sighs, suddenly sure that Hal has no idea what this is like.

“Ocelot?” Dave asks, staring down into the green wilderness of broccoli heads.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Did you know? About Hal’s mom.” Asking Ocelot not to gather sensitive information is like asking him not to breathe, so the odds are good.

“I did,” Ocelot says, “and it’s a damn shame.” 

“You could’ve told Mr. Miller,” Dave grumbles, and Ocelot laughs.

“Darlin’, Mr. Miller is an intel disaster and always has been, even I can’t always account for him.”

Dave has never really been able to figure out just what the hell is going on with Mr. Miller and Ocelot, between the fond light in Ocelot’s eyes when he talks about Mr. Miller, and Mr. Miller’s constant low-level grumbling about Ocelot being a terrible person. ‘Bestest frenemies’ makes the most sense out of the available options.

“Anyway,” Dave says, checking on the meat in the oven, “it’s more Dr. Emmerich’s problem. I mean, Hal says they were never really in love or anything, but… I mean, she’s the mother of his child, what the hell?”

“I don’t know,” Ocelot says, “but I can find out.”

“Don’t do anything too weird, Ocelot,” Dave says, and Ocelot just laughs.


	33. Interlude: George II

Dead Cell’s plans for Halloween are positively wholesome, and George takes that as a good sign. Fortune and Vamp are at the age where they still want to trick-or-treat but feel too old for it, and Raiden provides them with a good excuse, even if he’s the kind of kid to defiantly claim to also be too old.

“You are never too old for free candy, Raiden,” Fatman says, and Vamp snorts.

“You would say that,” he says, snickering.

“I just did,” Fatman tells him, and then looks at Fortune. “Can’t you teach your pet any manners?”

She giggles. “No way, the dance lessons take all his time.” Vamp executes a very graceful pirouette, and George smiles.

“I’m gonna look dumb in my costume, anyway,” Raiden mutters, clacking his braces together.

“No you won’t,” George tells him. “What are you going to be?”

“...I’d be a ninja, but I have these stupid things.” He clacks the braces together again, harder. It’s a very annoying sound, but George sympathizes. Sometimes Mr. Miller has to have both his limbs off at the same time, and he always slams his crutch into the ground to express his irritation.

George studies the kid, his wiry little body all tensed up and that pale hair sticking up in five different places. “There’s nothing wrong with mechanical augmentation, Raiden. A cyborg ninja is a lot cooler than the regular kind.” He’s pleased to see that his words make Raiden perk up a bit. The kid has always been moody, but it seems to be intensifying lately.

“What are you doing for Halloween, George?” Fortune asks him, and George shrugs.

“I thought I’d stay home and pass out candy, maybe help you escort Raiden if you want.”

“...Really?” Vamp asks, cocking his head as he studies George.

“Why not? I like you guys.” It continues to mystify George that no one else seems to notice that Dead Cell are good kids. Sure, Fortune and Vamp are disaffected and anti-authority, and Fatman has blown a few things up, but that’s no reason to write them off.

Halloween actually falls on a Saturday this year, which is convenient, and Raiden is allowed to be out until eleven, George checked. He’s not allowed to drive minors around, but Fortune’s dad is, and they should be able to hit a few of the best neighborhoods, as highlighted on a street map by Fatman, who really understands the virtue of having a plan in a way a lot of kids don’t. It’s Thursday morning and George is tucked into the trees on the west side of the grounds to have a smoke as he contemplates this, and footsteps make him jump and stash his half-burned cigarette as he turns around and catches sight of a guy he vaguely recognizes.

“Relax, I’m not gonna narc,” he says, and George chuckles.

“Thanks. You’re Johnny Sasaki, right?” That vague familiarity is coalescing into the knowledge that Johnny is a regular visitor at the anime club, and according to Dave, someone with whom Hal can talk about electronics. So, probably harmless.

“Uh, yeah,” Johnny says. “What are you doing for Halloween?”

There’s a brief moment where George wonders if he’s being hit on, and what he should do about it if he is. He settles for telling Johnny that he’ll be escorting some kids from the Boys And Girls Club around, because it’s true.

Johnny chuckles. “Yeah, I heard you were the responsible type,” he says, with a meaningful glance at the smokes in George’s pocket.

“Every man has his vices,” George grumbles.

“I can probably source you an e-cig if you ever want one,” Johnny says, and George laughs.

“Sorry,” he says, in response to look on Johnny’s face, “I’ve just never seen the appeal.”

Johnny waves a hand. “Whatever. Anyway, if you felt like it, you could totally come to my Halloween party. Costumes encouraged because you can get drunk in regular clothes any night of the year, but not required.”

“I’ll do my best to be on-theme,” George says, and wonders if Dead Cell would be more or less embarrassed if he put together some kind of costume.

When the time comes, George opts for the venerable dodge of being a pirate. It works for Dad, it’ll work for him. And Dad has a few extra eye-patches, so it’s no real imposition to borrow one, and there’s a box of scarves that Mom keeps for general use, so George only has to borrow a few accessories from Ocelot.

Dave just bought a Batman costume this year, and that was probably a pretty sound investment, especially since it’s not a tie-in to any particular movie. It will also pay for itself in a couple of years if he doesn’t fuck it up, and it looks pretty durable. Dave says it has good visibility from the cowl, too, and that’s important. He’s going to be helping Hal escort his little sister, and there’s something really adorable about that.

What isn’t cute at all is Eli slapping together a quick vampire costume, just to be a complete dick. Dad does his best to pretend it’s not freaking him out, but of course it is. George has to wonder where in the hell Eli even bought those teeth. Dad takes it pretty bravely, but he does sort of just stand back and let Ocelot give them the usual Halloween spiel, instead of doing most of it himself. 

The rules are simple: if the bowl says Take One, take one. Do not get into fights or make trouble, (some trouble is okay, if Ocelot thinks it’s _really_ funny, but that part goes unspoken every year) but if someone is robbing the smaller kids and doesn’t have the sense to be scared away, fighting them does not count as trouble. Breaking anything in said fight _does_ count as trouble, and Dad lays that part on Eli especially, who bristles and rolls his eyes but agrees not to send anyone to the hospital no matter what happens. George just checks the time on his phone, glad to see that he’ll be still be early to meet Dead Cell.


	34. Chapter 34

Dave generally goes public domain, but there’s something to be said for being Batman. It’s actually a really good costume, and he would feel stupid for paying so much for it if Hal hadn’t insisted on it, even chipping in. 

Apparently Hal not only gets a fat allowance in place of any actual attention from his dad, he has been selling computer science papers to college kids, and while that’s shady it’s also really cool that he’s smart enough to pull it off.

“Only 100-level,” he had said, looking proud of his craft and ashamed of the dishonesty and it probably says a lot about Dave that he is filled with helpless affection and more than a little lust at the thought of wearing Hal’s ill-gotten gains. 

Dave sighs internally to think of all the firewood-carrying, lawn-mowing, and window-washing money he and his brothers aren’t getting anymore. It wasn’t all Eli being a dick, people started getting so weird about them being clones. It feels really good to just be wandering around on Halloween like any other kid, his cape sweeping behind him in a way that makes his Tactical Sense tingle because the damn thing would be so easy to grab, but is also pretty goddamn cool.

Hal and E.E. are also pretty goddamn cool in their full robot glory, glowing eyes and weirdly convincing wiring and some real effort on the joints. They’re obviously wearing boxes covered in tinfoil, but there’s a kind of retro-cool, hipster-without-being-annoying charm to the whole thing, and as it gets dark, their silhouettes are genuinely mechanical-looking.

Dave wouldn’t have pegged E.E. for a tireless candy hound, but she leads them far afield and into a lot of different neighborhoods, determined to get as much done as she can before midnight, which is the absolute last gasp of when they’re supposed to have her back home. Hal says she’ll probably get tired before that, but he says so in a low murmur to Dave while E.E. is busy ringing a doorbell, so the kid won’t push herself out of sheer obstinacy.

“She would,” Hal says, his voice full of affection. 

They’re standing on the sidewalk, which is Hal’s usual policy. They’ve been letting E.E. go up the steps of these various houses by herself (except for one place with really spooky lawn decorations,) but a lot of the residents will wave them up onto the porch as well, willing to give a pair of near-adults candy as long as they’re in full costume and escorting a little kid. The friendly Minion at the door does so now, and Hal and Dave make their way up to claim miniature bags of Raisinets. It’s a good thing that Dave’s utility belt actually does have a storage compartment in it, since robots do not have pockets and E.E. is adamant that she won’t carry their candy, because it will mix with hers and they’ll never get it sorted out.

Somewhere along an affluent street to the northwest of Dave’s neighborhood, they run into a very familiar pirate and his crew of one black-and-purple goth witch, a sleek vampire that would freak Dad right out, a pint-size cyborg ninja with tinfoil embellishments on his real leg braces, and a kid dressed as what appears to be a thermonuclear warhead. All of them are carrying bags of candy, even if the vampire and the witch are doing their best to pretend they don’t care about theirs.

The Dread Pirate Plisken greets them with a friendly wave, and introduces the kids to his brother Dave, to Dave’s friend Hal, and to E.E., because George remembers names so well that he will probably have to go into politics. The kids seem all right, even if Raiden likes his plastic replica katana a little too much. He slings it around enough to dent one of Hal’s boxes, and then looks like he’s about to cry until Hal pops the dent out and assures him that the split in the foil just adds character.

“It’s not a wound from the Robot Wars,” Hal adds, smoothing the foil down. “E.E. and are from a peaceful, Asimov-y future.”

“We’re Three Laws compliant!” E.E. chirps, and tells them all about Asimov’s Laws of Robotics. Dave isn’t much of a sci-fi guy, but it seems like a good ranking of priorities.

It’s nice, combining forces for this last leg of the night. Dead Cell are trying to be cool, but it’s nice to see kids that age not being dicks to someone Raiden’s age. They seem genuinely fond of their little friend, and he pays it forward by being much kinder to E.E. than the average ten-year-old boy would be. He’s full of compliments for her costume, and either actually likes gross candy or is some kind of saint, the way he lets E.E. swindle him on their candy trades.

The older kids are doing their best to pretend this isn’t cute as hell, and Dave feels a pang of sympathy for them. Sixteen is still pretty awkward, but it’s nothing on thirteen. It’s kind of funny that out of all of them, the fat kid is probably the most confident. Going by Fatman ‘like the bomb,’ he seems to be taking it back, with extreme prejudice. And a worrying knowledge of explosives, but hey, everyone needs a hobby. He skims along on inline skates like some kind of bizarre parade float, making graceful loops around the main group whenever there’s room, and gamely climbing every set of steps they encounter. George sticks close by in case of catastrophe, but Fatman never falls.

Eventually they have to loop back toward the rendezvous point where Raiden’s foster mother is waiting to drive him home. Vamp starts making balletic leaps down the sidewalk, his coat flaring like wings while Fortune laughs and applauds. George has said that she’s a kind of melancholy girl, and Dave is glad to see her happy. E.E. is tired but determined. She wishes Raiden a heartfelt farewell, and only yawns once during it. Hal pretends not to notice.


	35. Chapter 35

Mantis has been a little weird lately. He has never been tactile, but these days he even leans away from the usual completely bro-appropriate shoulder-bumps. He talks less, too, and Eli would think the guy was mad at him if he didn’t, like, keep coming over and sharing his weird-ass beats at three a.m. 

Lefty is totally used to it these days, Mantis doesn’t even have to use his powers to calm him. He just makes a little whurfling noise to alert Eli when Mantis slips in through the window and sits cross-legged on the end of Eli’s bed and there’s this weird, intense vibe as they let the music sink down into their bones. Eli has written some lyrics, but they’re not good enough to show Mantis yet. Hopefully he won’t just pick them out of Eli’s head. He probably could, and that’s kind of…. hot, or something. Maybe he’s getting _that_ vibe, and that’s why he’s weird(er.)

Mantis has stopped eating lunch with Eli, too. He’s still there, he just doesn’t eat. Mantis may not be much for food, but he usually has a thermos of some kind of homemade smoothie, with a straw passed up through the filter hole on his mask. Early on Eli had just asked why he doesn’t eat real food, with what George would call a complete lack of tact. Whatever, it gets the job done, and Mantis had explained that he does eat real food, he just prefers to do it in a controlled environment. 

He used to keep up his side of the conversation, in his laconic way, but these days he’s totally silent, and just sits there while Eli wolfs down his boiled eggs and the chocolates Ocelot sneaks into his lunchbag. Mantis likes the ones with the smooth, truffle-y filling, but lately he has waved it off every time Eli offers to share. 

When Eli asked Mantis to crash this thing with him, (well, kinda crash, Johnny said he could come but he didn’t seem to be looking forward to it.) he hadn’t actually expected him to agree. Hopefully he’ll take some goddamn Halloween candy, whatever happens. And there had _better_ be candy.

“Mrrhn. House parties,” Mantis mutters, as they approach the Sasaki residence.

“Yeah, but what else did you have to do tonight?”

“Homework,” Mantis says, and he sounds so prissy that Eli has to laugh.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and pats Mantis’s shoulder, disturbed but not surprised when he tenses and pulls away. “Anyway, if it’s lame we can probably find some way to amuse ourselves.” 

He lets an image of breaking all the windows in the garden shed float along with his words. He’s getting better at this, Mantis’s telepathy like some kind of unending in-joke. Now Mantis lets out a little snort of amusement, and it makes Eli feel so much better that it’s fucking stupid. He runs ahead to burn off some energy and to get a good start to vaulting over the fence. He’s ready to climb back up it to help Mantis over, when he sees one slender, black-gloved hand flat on the top. There’s a moment of effort, and then Mantis floats up into view. 

Eli has seen Mantis move stuff before, but never anything anywhere near as massive as his own body, skinny as that may be. He floats to earth, straight down but as light as a feather until he’s standing on his own two legs again. Shaky legs, and even if he’s been so anti-touch lately, Eli isn’t going to let him fall over. He puts one arm around those skinny shoulders, and Mantis leans on him for a long moment. Eli tries not to enjoy touching him as much as he is, but it probably leaks over because Mantis pulls away with an irritated noise, and then leads the way across the lawn.

There are some pretty serious decorations, and Eli resolves to let the gigantic spider and web live to fight another day, while that tower of three stupidly smiley jack-o-lanterns is totally asking for it. Way down by the actual gate there’s one of those Take One bowls for trick-or-treaters, and Eli decides to leave it alone. For now. Beside him Mantis grumbles something about stupid horny drunkthoughts and how much he hates everyone. There’s something really cute about it, and Eli does his best to keep that thought quiet.

Inside is the usual mess. Eli isn’t even sure why he goes to house parties, they’re always just a bunch of idiots crammed in together and getting as drunk as possible, with a few half-assed attempts to dance. At least the music here is all right, some kind of obscure semi-techno that’s just dark and glassy-eyed enough for Eli’s aesthetic. Mantis’s too, apparently. He doesn’t say anything against it, at least, just floats along next to Eli. That’s more literal than Eli thought at first, and he knows that Mantis can feel him noticing that Mantis is skimming one quarter-inch off the ground.

“That is so fucking cool,” Eli tells him, once they’ve made their way through the crowd and reached a place a two-liter of orange soda and a bottle of vodka. There’s at least enough left in it for Eli to get started, and he mixes two plastic cups of this underage screwdriver. 

The vodka won’t be good, but it won’t be full-on burning rotgut, either, and Eli prides himself on his sense of proportion. When it comes to mixed drinks, anyway. He’s expecting to double-fist these after Mantis turns his down, but Mantis wraps one gloved hand around the cup.

“Thank you,” he says, almost too low to be heard.

Eli grins at him, tapping the rim of his cup to Mantis’s. “You’re welcome.”

Somehow, it’s not a surprise when George shoulders up beside him. “Eli,” he says, all gruff like Dad, “there any of that left?”

“Some.” George is a dipshit, but he’s Eli’s dipshit, and mostly inoffensive. Eli passes the bottle to George, who tips it into his own cup. He’s still got his eye patch on, and Eli wonders if Dave is here with his pet nerd, and if he’s still completely dressed as Batman.


End file.
